tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76934269404908049542024-03-22T12:51:12.819+05:30The Corporate SlackerEssays. Reviews. Books. Movies. Fiction.
Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.comBlogger184125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-42243650881773958852023-08-08T12:38:00.006+05:302023-08-08T12:44:24.319+05:30'BAIPAN BHAARI DEVA', OR, THE INCREDIBLE HEAVINESS OF BEING <p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> 'BAIPAN BHAARI DEVA', OR, <span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; text-align: center;">THE INCREDIBLE HEAVINESS OF BEING</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0iyE3CUNumpLy1kQ53mfFYqPIPCZh9qOLJRzSQJjm-TYOt6W01PIpeWdx8DnU5ia0vv2YCde55aD8awpdmkIM2SOVo_ueMNKwxC4oqTk1PgyLHK34P6T1b1D3_ifH7s5YasG0zPYLjR-9icPNp8CIQvi2YAflo5Kh-sUfkX9N-GnIyZkWBf2hx9IHVH8B/s900/Baipan-Bhaari-Deva-Movie-Download.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="900" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0iyE3CUNumpLy1kQ53mfFYqPIPCZh9qOLJRzSQJjm-TYOt6W01PIpeWdx8DnU5ia0vv2YCde55aD8awpdmkIM2SOVo_ueMNKwxC4oqTk1PgyLHK34P6T1b1D3_ifH7s5YasG0zPYLjR-9icPNp8CIQvi2YAflo5Kh-sUfkX9N-GnIyZkWBf2hx9IHVH8B/s320/Baipan-Bhaari-Deva-Movie-Download.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Baipan Bhaari Deva (2023, Marathi. Director: Kedar Shinde)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It’s all in the title, really.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">No, think about it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">‘<i>Baipan Bhaari Deva’</i> translates, if one were to be literal, to ‘Womanhood is heavy, O God’. But the nuance is in the non-literal translation—‘Womanhood is difficult’, if one were to interpret ‘heavy’ as a burden. ‘Womanhood is powerful’, if one were to interpret ‘<i>bhaari’</i> in the colloquial Marathi sense it is often used.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Director <b>Kedar Shinde</b> and the writer, <b>Vaishali Naik</b> craft this narrative with love and understanding, creating a film that is easy to watch, entertaining, and yes, also says a lot about the sisterhood, and the travails of (admittedly, middle-upper-middle class) Indian women.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The story ostensibly revolves around a <i>Mangalagaur </i>competition. ‘<i>Mangalagaur’</i>, for those of you not steeped in Mahrashtrian culture (and if not, you should be; there's more to it than koli geet and right-wing lunacy), is a traditional gathering of women that takes place in the Hindu month of ‘<i>Shravan’</i>. Any Tuesday night in the month can be scheduled, and the host invites her friends and acquaintances depending on how much of a public event she wants to make it. A function that, no doubt, began as a way to assimilate a new bride into her marital home by bringing her into contact with a community of women from the locality, survives to the present day. The centrepiece of the function is the ‘frolic’; a series of performances of traditional dances and games accompanied by singing songs ranging from the religious to the borderline bawdy. Before women going to watch movies in large groups wearing pink became acceptable as a form of community-building, it was functions like this that served the purpose of providing a safe space for female bonding.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In <i>Baipan</i>, the competition excites the interest of <b>Shashi Kakade</b>, a just-retired corporate executive, when she finds that her daughter’s mother-in-law is planning to take part. Determined to show her daughter than anything her husband’s mother can do, Shashi can do better, she tries to enlist her sisters into joining her to form a group and enter. Convincing the six Kakade sisters to come together turns out to be a task. Keeping them together, training to get good enough to compete, and what eventually happens when they get on stage forms the movie’s story.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And yet, as I said, the film is only ostensibly about the competition. What we are seeing, in reality, is some really well-done character-work and commentary. Each Kakade sister has drifted apart over the years, and each are struggling with their own demons. From <b>Jaya</b>, affectionately called ‘Mai’ (mother), who has remained childless, and struggles with depression, to <b>Charu</b>, whose seemingly fulfilled marital life is punctuated by financial strain and a feckless husband, from <b>Sadhana</b>, the crooner silenced by a conservative father-in-law, to the twins <b>Ketaki</b> and <b>Pallavi</b>, the former using her husband’s wealth as a façade to hide her sense of worthlessness and the latter going through a painful divorce, to Shashi herself, whose ambition and narcissism has alienated so many, the Kakade sisters have more to struggle with than aching joints and brittle bones as they try to re-learn the steps of the dances and games that punctuated their idyllic childhood.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTCAHh5EQZFWe6DLc46zzd_k6zI4d6WItz8m7_zvNxv3Z-rPcNDA_SyWy4-j98HCzuQPuyuZSaZzZJEDBWoM8NEA4eNLeJlstJ6TR7FM_ii_pCJoUOhxOG5Wx7FqzagfmDq27xpve1HUImWmQ9PSIz40-d1dhue5eRLNV3u1zolO-rvQLxVqE1_-jqAsxP/s950/bbd-rev-2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="523" data-original-width="950" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTCAHh5EQZFWe6DLc46zzd_k6zI4d6WItz8m7_zvNxv3Z-rPcNDA_SyWy4-j98HCzuQPuyuZSaZzZJEDBWoM8NEA4eNLeJlstJ6TR7FM_ii_pCJoUOhxOG5Wx7FqzagfmDq27xpve1HUImWmQ9PSIz40-d1dhue5eRLNV3u1zolO-rvQLxVqE1_-jqAsxP/s320/bbd-rev-2.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The film is brave, in a sense. Marathi cinema has not been in good health, artistically or financially. The younger demographic is more drawn to mainstream Bollywood or even English films. This has led to the industry stuck in doldrums; Marathi films are either highly-esoteric festivalcore art that no one watches, or poor attempts at crowd-pleasers pandering to folk-heroes that may turn profits, but are critically negligible. <i>Baipan, </i>then, taking on a contemporary theme, casting middle-aged female actors and not pandering to the 'Marathi pride' gang, at least in an overt way, must have known it was taking a risk.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And yet, Marathi cinema has been at its best when it has focussed on emotional bonds, and <i>Baipan</i> plays to this strength. It would have been easy to fall into a trap of trite sentimentality or twee answers to the struggles the women in the film face. But—and credit to the writers and director—it does not. <i>Baipan</i> might shy away from getting too ugly, from really plumbing the depths of what the patriarchy has done to Marathi women, but in the arena it plays in, it is honest.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That is more, probably, than anyone could say for the films mainstream Bollywood makes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">This honesty rides on performances of true calibre. A film about six middle-aged sisters has no box-office stars (not that Marathi cinema has anyone that fits this description), and that is a good thing. Whether it is legends of the stage and cinema like <b>Rohini Hattangadi</b> as Jaya and <b>Vandana Gupte</b> as Shashi, or veteran TV soap actors like <b>Sukanya Kulkarni</b> as Sadhana and <b>Suchitra Bandekar</b> as Pallavi, each brings a distinctiveness to their roles, never letting their personalities become bigger than the writing, or falling short of where they need to be.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In this day and age, <i>Mangalagaurs </i> are hardly common. New brides often celebrate one in the first <i>Shravan</i> after their weddings, but that is about it. The games and dances are rarer still; for few remain who remember those things that should not have been forgotten.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But still, even in this day and age, nearly a month after its release, I walked into the theatre in Mumbai that was packed to the gills to see a film about six-middle-aged women. Despite being up against <b>Oppenheimer</b>, playing at theatres a stone’s throw away, Plaza in Dadar had a full house for <i>Baipan</i>, The theatre started by the legendary V Shantaram, the theatre that had lived through terrorist blasts and the dark, empty days of Marathi cinema, was overflowing with patrons, a majority of them women, many dressed in fancy nine-yard sarees, adorned with ornaments, who had made seeing this film their own <b>Barbie</b> moment.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">As the credits rolled, I wondered whether those droves had come for the feminism, the characterisations, the subtext, or merely for the window-dressing, to see a film about ‘a <i>Mangalagaur</i> competition’. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The answer is that it was an irrelevant point. It did not matter. To them, and to millions like them who have made this film the year’s biggest Marathi film by a considerable distance, this was their <i>Barbie</i> moment, their <i>Wonder Woman, </i>their <i>Black Panther.</i> A moment Bollywood would never have given them, a moment the language barrier to English would have tragically kept away. From Mumbai to Nagpur, from Nasik to Kolhapure, <i>Baipan</i> was having its day, bonding its viewers into an experience celebrating womanhood.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And it deserved it.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calisto MT, serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9v8SopRUIckN-Hw_iGRhjTrQNTxweXohvjF7WkzLJAPgMQ_7muJhWMrQZvTz8VcQ77_m3p390g9_LMw4iawJ_Yq1OJ7mKGdOjq8G2fQeMxKCVZnoE9t38JJdM0JTJrfTpuQofCovMftSwcfoCiVpFAQgXPwkVnBCNcSFLyHkJlyXWGAb7ZFI8aZETEZiJ/s883/Baipan-Bhari-Deva-Movie.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="477" data-original-width="883" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9v8SopRUIckN-Hw_iGRhjTrQNTxweXohvjF7WkzLJAPgMQ_7muJhWMrQZvTz8VcQ77_m3p390g9_LMw4iawJ_Yq1OJ7mKGdOjq8G2fQeMxKCVZnoE9t38JJdM0JTJrfTpuQofCovMftSwcfoCiVpFAQgXPwkVnBCNcSFLyHkJlyXWGAb7ZFI8aZETEZiJ/s320/Baipan-Bhari-Deva-Movie.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-89247223208270397332023-05-11T20:20:00.011+05:302023-06-30T11:33:01.552+05:30Ruminations on a year-old Olympics<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhb7AWM4GlcSZeGFC9eN5Xho1jGTiitnquoT59xuqHiEJr_hl4DyRDnx2GPK0V9_9maXmG6e2RA-54hbbqpaqpNigWh9PGsYjHc2605qeTxPleH3DDG9dBStskSVbGOd-Jf4uQ0YQcQpXZmuL2REX_57BJipG2siUPiilAvYP0PiUm-4cOeMhzSePCg/s3417/2019-2020_ISU_Junior_Grand_Prix_Final_Kamila_Valieva_2019_12_05_0782.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3417" data-original-width="2278" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUhb7AWM4GlcSZeGFC9eN5Xho1jGTiitnquoT59xuqHiEJr_hl4DyRDnx2GPK0V9_9maXmG6e2RA-54hbbqpaqpNigWh9PGsYjHc2605qeTxPleH3DDG9dBStskSVbGOd-Jf4uQ0YQcQpXZmuL2REX_57BJipG2siUPiilAvYP0PiUm-4cOeMhzSePCg/w266-h400/2019-2020_ISU_Junior_Grand_Prix_Final_Kamila_Valieva_2019_12_05_0782.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=84911354" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">By Luu - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0</a>, <br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Somewhere, in a world that is not this one, Kamila Valieva performs for the world.</span></span></p><style class="WebKit-mso-list-quirks-style">
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</style><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I know it is not our world, because in that world, there is a presence of the divine. Things go as they should. As we expect them to. And a fifteen-year-old girl can showcase her talent for a while, and let herself be forgotten when she is done.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">But that is not this world.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">In this world, a series of mis-steps takes place and the fog of a war perpetrated by her country hangs over her, and the sport she has dedicated her life to. In this world, that means there will always be that asterisk against her name, that doubt in our minds as to whether she really ever was all that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">A Year on Ice<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">This essay began last year. That is to say, I meant to write it almost a year ago exactly, when the events had just happened. It would have been a different beast had it been written then, I dare say. My approach at the time had been emotional, seeing the events that occurred as a human tragedy. As time passed, however, and the essay remained half-written, the actual unfolding of matters became more political than personal, and I found myself realising I could not possibly write it the way I had meant to.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">But still, a recounting of events might help clarify my own thoughts on the matter, I think, and to that extent perhaps it is time to revisit this, with the perspective that time has given.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>Racking up the scores</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">To begin with, you need to know that there are six figure-skating events at the Winter Olympics these days:<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">1.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> - </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;">Men’s Singles FS<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">2.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> - </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;">Women’s Singles FS<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">3.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> - </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;">Pairs<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">4.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> - </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;">Ice Dance<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">5.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> - </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;">Team Event<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: 150%; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 150%;">6.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> - </span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;">The Gala<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The Singles events are self-explanatory. Individual skaters compete against each other in one short and one long program. Highest cumulative points wins.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The ‘Pairs’ and ‘Ice Dance’ events consist of a pair of two skaters performing, one male and one female, in one short and one long program. The pair with the highest cumulative points wins.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">As the total number of skaters a country is allowed to send is restricted to 18 (9+9), effectively a country sending a full slate of skaters can send 3 Men and 3 Women singles skaters, and 3 pairs each in Pairs and Ice Dance. Most do not send that many; apart from the USA, Russia, Japan, China, South Korea and Canada, most countries struggle to have more than a few world-class skaters.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">In the Team Event, a participating country nominates one person / pair from their slate for each of the programs (this means they can send a different skater/team for the short and long program as well). There is a scoring system where the top finisher receives 10 points and the next one 9 and so on. In short, winning by a huge margin is not particularly helpful, as long as one wins. By contrast, in the other events, margins matter, because the short and long program scores are added up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The Gala is a pure exhibition of skating skill, with no scoring. It functions like a closing ceremony of sorts for the Figure Skating events. It is just a lot of fun and camaraderie.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;">A brief digression on scoring</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The judging in Figure Skating, as in any sport with subjective ratings, has been the subject of controversy. For figure skating, the boiling point came about in 2002, when the Pairs Skating event at the Olympics in Salt Lake City ended with the Gold being awarded to the Russian pair over the Canadian pair, though the Canadian pair seemed to have been better on the ice. Later, one judge claimed she had been coerced by the Russian Federation (they will appear later in this piece as well, in equally-unflattering form). <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNhe5IKZ_WplmHdkRhVdwDI4ZzhU3Jgh8k4lnU0yofywivkvyTkXvcpAcyrgYR2TlX_jm7g0O3QLA81J6DJj45II8CzGOd_e-xpJszwE7scg7kQe8PEdJVctVfyQCL9fdoIwMbXg4Vz05I2OpSfts2oY1Hy56OfrpRxcbew1YiulwdgKO1Zn7se_q_w/s1200/HHF4STWXZVDFHG2BQFQTCVRXGU.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVNhe5IKZ_WplmHdkRhVdwDI4ZzhU3Jgh8k4lnU0yofywivkvyTkXvcpAcyrgYR2TlX_jm7g0O3QLA81J6DJj45II8CzGOd_e-xpJszwE7scg7kQe8PEdJVctVfyQCL9fdoIwMbXg4Vz05I2OpSfts2oY1Hy56OfrpRxcbew1YiulwdgKO1Zn7se_q_w/w400-h225/HHF4STWXZVDFHG2BQFQTCVRXGU.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span>And that is how they ended up with two gold medals being awarded that year</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">As a fallout, in 2004, the scoring system was changed. Explaining it in detail would end up leaving a reader knowing less than they did before, so let me put it in as simplistic terms as possible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">A skater’s program has two components—a <b>Technical Score</b> and a <b>Grade of Execution</b>. The TS is based on the difficulty level of elements attempted. The GoE score is based on how well the judges consider the element to have been executed. A certain number of mandatory elements are required to be performed in each program, which varies from men to women’s events and from Pairs to Ice Dance. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">An ’element’ here, is what we would perhaps call in layperson terms, a ‘move’. A jump (both feet leave the ice) is an element. A combination jump (two or more in succession) is a separate element. A spin (rotation on the ice) is an element. A step-sequence is an element.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">As should be obvious, the more difficult an element, the higher its technical score. Therefore, a slightly lower GoE for a more difficult TS element can lead to a higher overall score than a perfectly-executed element with lower difficulty.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Onward, Olympians!<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The Team Event was held first, as always. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Russia (competing as Russian Olympic Committee, for reasons to do with their history of doping athletes) was seen as a narrow favourite to win long before the actual event. This has not always been a given, however. While Russia has been dominant in Women’s Singles figure skating since 2014, the best men’s singles skaters have been from Japan or the USA, while pairs skating has had China and USA sharing laurels with Russia. Therefore, while Russia, powered by Evgeny Plushenko (now a coach) and Yulia Liptnitskaya (now a happy stay-at-home mother), won Team Gold in 2014, it was Canada whose legendary pair of Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir powered them to Team Victory in 2018.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">But as the date for the 2022 Olympics came closer, the Russians would have had good reason to fancy their chances.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The reason for this, was the emergence of not one skater who was the best in the world (as Yulia Lipnitskaya had been considered in 2014, alongside the Korean Yuna Kim), or even two (as Evgenia Medvedeva and Aliza Zagitova would be in 2018), but because they had <i>SIX</i> skaters who stood ahead of the rest of the world (Japan’s Kaori Sakamoto had the seventh-best score that season; everyone scoring higher than her was Russian). In fact, such was their embarrassment of riches that they left Liza Tuktamsheyeva, a former World and European Champion, back at home, and the injury to Alina Kostornaia, 2020 European Champion, did not faze them either.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYWTae6qwEZsuQqjqJroSCiREaN8bRxkBrvNTMO6GCJs_yNfczcQ_dXiZn6ldw-etP0wWJLREdLEaYbmGN2Qqn7hY1e1t5Co4Tm-tUwhMJJvxf4r-Xl5dcX_Yivgf8Tb_-gA2Onfsp6rDvFFTdFqu_cvl9APFjPKHJMFmGE99cq8AA7raY6ZSgucHQrQ/s3840/w7AKKupoivrFyFqHzFmrPEl1BUBhKf-o6ZzXfxswyoA.webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="3840" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYWTae6qwEZsuQqjqJroSCiREaN8bRxkBrvNTMO6GCJs_yNfczcQ_dXiZn6ldw-etP0wWJLREdLEaYbmGN2Qqn7hY1e1t5Co4Tm-tUwhMJJvxf4r-Xl5dcX_Yivgf8Tb_-gA2Onfsp6rDvFFTdFqu_cvl9APFjPKHJMFmGE99cq8AA7raY6ZSgucHQrQ/w400-h250/w7AKKupoivrFyFqHzFmrPEl1BUBhKf-o6ZzXfxswyoA.webp" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yulia Lipnitskaya</td></tr></tbody></table><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;">Behind the Russian dominance – Quads! Quads! Quads!</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The Russian dominance in Women’s Figure Skating had truly begun with their team victory and singles victories in 2014. But they were far from the leading country before that. In fact, at the turn of the millennium, it was Japan and South Korea that had been at the forefront of Figure Skating. Yuna Kim, Miki Ando and Mao Asada were the biggest names in the FS world. But there had been ‘rumblings’, as it were. Adalina Sotnikova (now running her own coaching school), Liza Tuktamshayeva (still one of the best skaters in the world) and Yulia Lipnitskaya, all of 16, 18 and 15 respectively, had made it to the medals at the European and World Championships in 2012-13. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I have written about the controversy surrounding what happened in Sochi at the 2014 Olympics <a href="https://www.slackerstales.com/2017/04/the-winter-olympics-skatingand-cheating.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">elsewhere</a>, but chatter aside, the takeaway was that a strong focus on technical difficulty made for higher scores. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">In the world of Figure Skating, the highest difficulty has always been attributed to the ‘jumps’. This makes sense—try jumping in one place, on the ground. Now try spinning in the air as you jump, a complete 360. Now imagine doing that on ice, where you have to launch and land on a single blade.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Indeed, in the early days of competitive figure skating, the jump was seen as un-ladylike and was not permitted for women, who were assessed on the elegance and form of their ‘figures’ (the patterns formed as they skated on the ice). Sonja Henie, the Norwegian Hollywood-film-star-to-be, was the first to consistently land jumps, and won three Olympic Golds in the thirties doing so.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpN5X__8O_hJFheHUSTJkHRG9gqg1F3MmBmpXgQ9AOub3MbRjadr2wjDhl2yRXzQzJYNONfkDQkJtfupjhymM8DR5rZlj1dj98PdNFU0ElWhYkD1h50zQJOtBl4Qhbex5YJ_t0q_4NsIPmceZg3R1cHi8cGDpmxrGgwRxO2E-C4RcMMPV12JnZg84Anw/s900/sonja-henie-in-the-hollywood-ice-revue-everett.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="684" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpN5X__8O_hJFheHUSTJkHRG9gqg1F3MmBmpXgQ9AOub3MbRjadr2wjDhl2yRXzQzJYNONfkDQkJtfupjhymM8DR5rZlj1dj98PdNFU0ElWhYkD1h50zQJOtBl4Qhbex5YJ_t0q_4NsIPmceZg3R1cHi8cGDpmxrGgwRxO2E-C4RcMMPV12JnZg84Anw/w304-h400/sonja-henie-in-the-hollywood-ice-revue-everett.jpeg" width="304" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hollywood Star? Yes<br />Olympic Gold Medal? Also yes.</td></tr></tbody></table><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">To write about the development of the art of jumping, from Henie to Midori Ito, from Bonaly to Trusova would be a task for a separate essay. Suffice to say that the jumps take a long time to evolve. Depending on how the skater launches and how they land, a jump can be a toe-loop, flip, a lutz, a loop, an axel or a salchow. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">An axel is generally more difficult than a salchow which is more difficult than a lutz.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Remember trying to jump and spin a 360 on the ground? By the ‘70s, skaters were managing to do <i>three</i> spins before landing - the triple-salchow, triple-toe-loop and so on. But it would take till 1988 for a triple-axel to be landed in competition (Midori Ito, Japan)—fully thirty-five years after Carol Heiss landed a double-axel, and <i>one-hundred-and-five</i> years after Dorothy Smith landed a single-axel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The triple-axel would remain an elusive achievement for long after Midori Ito brought it the world. Most skaters did not attempt it, considering the risk of failure and injury to be more than the potential score. However, a skater that DID land it, could hope to medal due to the high weightage they could get out of it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">As of 2014, triple-axels were still very rare, with only Mao Asada having one, and that still inconsistent.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">As of 2022, every top Russian skater had it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">And the cream of the crop—Trusova, Valieva and co., were doing Quads.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">A quad, as the name suggests, involves four spins. Four spins, in the air, launching off ice and landing again, on that single blade. Not the quad-axel, yet, but the other jumps? They were landing quad-loops and quad-lutzes. It was a sight to behold, a jaw-dropper, when done right.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">No female skater outside of Russia has been able to land a quad in competiton other than Alyssa Liu (USA), who only did it as a junior (it is seen a relatively easier for juniors who are lighter and shorter, to do more difficult jumps), and Miki Ando. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRTxkF7xCCim2QmoBWGOtW9DROh5Mu1EnOObHMOAO6rnIyC9BjRpKe6Sw2Dlpm1eymFfp4J5G-BrqfMr14XwAM7q-JX5cm1pUt31AYMCVdXwflG3tEpMsNHzdthR10IWI_Uy1iK-QWM1KWkLh-bP_HgDNvIV9cjnJaRgIO3mNF26zhINNrKQLr6NYKA/s499/4383201206_225e5df3c1.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="366" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRTxkF7xCCim2QmoBWGOtW9DROh5Mu1EnOObHMOAO6rnIyC9BjRpKe6Sw2Dlpm1eymFfp4J5G-BrqfMr14XwAM7q-JX5cm1pUt31AYMCVdXwflG3tEpMsNHzdthR10IWI_Uy1iK-QWM1KWkLh-bP_HgDNvIV9cjnJaRgIO3mNF26zhINNrKQLr6NYKA/s320/4383201206_225e5df3c1.jpeg" width="235" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Miki Ando doing Miki Ando things</td></tr></tbody></table><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"> </span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;">The quest for a podium sweep</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">If anything, the Russians seemed confident of a medal sweep, something that had never happened before. And they seemed to have the arsenal to make it happen—<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">They had <b>Anna Scherbakova</b>, the 2021 World Champion, a delicate, small-boned elfin creature who seemed to dance and jump with otherworldly grace. She, of course, had quads.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEwpHDi40csFnFKKucn0w1f01XWIr_4UuW7BgaqLLoAG1rjirdfOz281rE0n42z-IayvAoPUeVG_hV4--eDgyFi7JHZq-uJQER1s0wZqOs5TVhRJNaYiljIIwSbYSP3NdtwAI4E6kbQBCth3NrqvK9X9IFEjAKAY1hGgme5bgqFvyCHTPyDb4pEAr5ng/s2031/Anna%20S.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1142" data-original-width="2031" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEwpHDi40csFnFKKucn0w1f01XWIr_4UuW7BgaqLLoAG1rjirdfOz281rE0n42z-IayvAoPUeVG_hV4--eDgyFi7JHZq-uJQER1s0wZqOs5TVhRJNaYiljIIwSbYSP3NdtwAI4E6kbQBCth3NrqvK9X9IFEjAKAY1hGgme5bgqFvyCHTPyDb4pEAr5ng/w400-h225/Anna%20S.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">They had <b>Alexandra ‘Sasha’ Trusova</b>, winner of a bounty of medals across the world, a striking figure with her knee-length red hair and the gait and demeanour of a goth-rock superstar <i>and</i> an ability to execute feats of jumping others did not even dare to try. She was the first to land a quad-lutz, quad-flip and quad-loop in competition, and her ‘program’ had no less than five quads planned.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieJEMKoj1-kvXoE7FOYR0nPG6JacRxYX4VCwMaQDG83DRBxRM4M2N5gDVvx523micxNNoPPOLHA77Y4HwVnfg1Jri3gDPcUvo5g0-fPZU0ZJfdQ13znKPjzO_PpMK9eVe6TZh31c3IVcSPjEWFxFEaCxtUtwIy88FHys8UbbnTg6ximFfEilYNn0dwPw/s1028/alexandra-trusova.jpg.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="673" data-original-width="1028" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieJEMKoj1-kvXoE7FOYR0nPG6JacRxYX4VCwMaQDG83DRBxRM4M2N5gDVvx523micxNNoPPOLHA77Y4HwVnfg1Jri3gDPcUvo5g0-fPZU0ZJfdQ13znKPjzO_PpMK9eVe6TZh31c3IVcSPjEWFxFEaCxtUtwIy88FHys8UbbnTg6ximFfEilYNn0dwPw/w400-h261/alexandra-trusova.jpg.webp" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">And they had <b>Kamila Valieva</b>, the fifteen-year-old reigning World Champion, and the best of them all. The bright-eyed Tatar was a figure-skating artist, her lines impeccable, her form perfect, her jumps breath-taking. If the figure-skating world had a Queen, she was it. She had set nine point-scoring world records already. In a sport of razor-thin margins and subjective judging, she had been undefeated for a year. It’s hard to overstate this. Undefeated. She had won every event she had entered, whether in her native Russia or across the globe in Canada, or Europe or wherever.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0S6cPeMBdyh6pEHzSB_PRVgcy-4dOHr8KGaWpihhZHfAOVNfZ4MsZgTNqYzaWyOScgSwvp8jC6iJWNnw8qwZkEMHODbJLPR2B1XZKgeiuAc_8AZ2OW6bJmNuEpEzgOUZZ_88gCfB_w3OnY-wOGreukc0ZMT5dv-pTXXWiRjmSJR4jbzXN4njEUCVbwQ/s1600/Valieva.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0S6cPeMBdyh6pEHzSB_PRVgcy-4dOHr8KGaWpihhZHfAOVNfZ4MsZgTNqYzaWyOScgSwvp8jC6iJWNnw8qwZkEMHODbJLPR2B1XZKgeiuAc_8AZ2OW6bJmNuEpEzgOUZZ_88gCfB_w3OnY-wOGreukc0ZMT5dv-pTXXWiRjmSJR4jbzXN4njEUCVbwQ/w400-h225/Valieva.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Seeing her skate, at the time, made it clear why. Kamila, at her best, is breath-taking. The heart stops; the eyes stop blinking, the mind is rivetted. The rest of the world ceases to exist, there is only the viewer and Kamila, as she blesses the ice with her art, sharing her genius with the world.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Yes, I know, the word ‘genius’ is thrown about too lightly, indeed, but there are times when it is hard NOT to use it when Kamila Valieva skates. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The Russians are coming for the Team Gold<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">When the Russians entered Kamila as their sole singles skater in the Team event (other countries used a different skater for the short and long program to reduce injury risk), it was clear they did not mean to mess around. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">As the Team Event unfolded, Kamila did what she was expected to do, perhaps even more. She did not just win her events, she dominated them by over 50 points from her closest competitors. There was no holding back anything for the singles finals—the girl was the best in the world and meant to prove it. Her long program, set to Maurice Ravel’s ‘Bolero’, was triumphant. It evoked not only the beauty of her sport, but seemed to display the potential of the human body, to push the limits of what you may have thought it possible for it to do, and to do so in a manner so calm and graceful that you would forget the effort behind it as you admired what she did.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">She was going to win the singles gold.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The story would play out just as it was expected to.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">And the Devil said, “No.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The story fell off the rails the next day. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">In December of 2021, the Russian National Championships had been held in St. Petersburg. As per routine, urine samples had been collected from the competitors and sent to Switzerland for testing. As of February 2022, the results of those tests had not yet been published. On the day after the Team Event, they were.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Kamila Valieva had tested positive for Trimetazidine, a drug commonly given to heart patients. It was banned by the Anti-doping agency because a healthy person taking it could expect to have enhanced endurance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">At first the situation seemed clear-cut. A ban would be issued, the Russians disqualified from the Team Event and Valieva pulled from the singles competition. The USA would win Gold in the Team Event. The Russians would still win singles Gold and Silver, the only question there being whether Scherbakova or Trusova would finish ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">But there is always an appeals process, and the Russians filed it with the CAS, the appellate body. Normally, such a process happens between major events and moves at a glacial pace. Here, it was happening during the event and decisions had to be taken fast. Moreoever, as per the rules, Valieva, at 15, was a 'protected person', meaning she was not to be presumed guilty until proven otherwise, as is the case for older athletes. The CAS, then,</span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> ruled that the suspension of Valieva would be put on hold pending the resolution of the appeal.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Meanwhile, the Short Program of the Singles event took place.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Valieva did what she did best. She skated. And she skated beautifully. When it was over, she led the field by 2 points from Scherbakova, who was a point ahead of Kaori Sakamoto (Japan), while Trusova finished a disappointing 5 points behind the Japanese skater.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">By now, the world media had picked up on the news, and the world’s attention was rivetted on Beijing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The Ice is always colder on the other side.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">In a sense, it might be a good idea here to take a step back and think about Figure Skating as a whole. It is not a widely popular sport like Football or Cricket, or even Tennis. As it requires rinks and equipment, it’s not even as mainstream as athletics or gymnastics. While there is a passionate fanbase, for sure, most people are ‘casuals’, only noticing when there is an Olympic games going on, and even then, if there is a scandal of some sort (of which there’s been a fair few).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">In a sport generally starved for attention and funding, there are few countries that are truly competitive. The USA, of course, is one, and so is Japan, and to some extent Korea and Canada. France and Germany usually have a world-class team or singles skater as does Italy, while China has emerged as serious contender more recently. But while Russia has always been a presence, especially since the late-nineties, it has been since 2014 that they have been <i>the </i>dominant force in Women’s Singles. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Much of this is fuelled by <b>Eteri Tutberidze</b> and her coaching outfit, Sambo-70. While Adalina Sotnikova, the first Russian to win solo Olympic gold for Russia (at Sochi in 2014, controversially, from Yuna Kim of Korea), was not a Sambo product, the actual title favourite that year, Yulia Lipnitskaya, was. Liza Tuktamshayeva is not a Sambo product either, but Evgenia 'Zhenya' Medvedeva (who can now be found as a host on Russian TV and posing in swimsuits) and Alina Zagitova (who can also now be found as a host on Russian TV and posing in swimsuits), whose rivalry lit up the 2018 Olympics and who won 3 world titles between them, were. For 2022, all three – Scherbakova, Trusova and Valieva were Sambo trainees, and it looked like becoming the culmination of the School’s efforts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaQfyGl4Ku7o10NoBVzIlFFiUZXpKmYYej7W19TDkQPHk0-_9ZKi2ti6Pyv54ZnuVjrAX-uQflFgJraepoRbwddTpcIfAb1KsNptAf-5O5TdiIOWaJi7hxAZaz_i9E86aiWs8VFH7rplg1TfdXq22mkw6F_vz-k1CEy8PKKbza1V4rN82cFjn1pWfkjA/s999/1061920054_0_210_3009_1837_1000x0_80_0_1_0ca6697cd108d48bf48959c5e519b5fe.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="999" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaQfyGl4Ku7o10NoBVzIlFFiUZXpKmYYej7W19TDkQPHk0-_9ZKi2ti6Pyv54ZnuVjrAX-uQflFgJraepoRbwddTpcIfAb1KsNptAf-5O5TdiIOWaJi7hxAZaz_i9E86aiWs8VFH7rplg1TfdXq22mkw6F_vz-k1CEy8PKKbza1V4rN82cFjn1pWfkjA/w400-h216/1061920054_0_210_3009_1837_1000x0_80_0_1_0ca6697cd108d48bf48959c5e519b5fe.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Rivals - Medvedeva and Zagitova<br />(Don't trust the smiles. There are probably daggers in the soft toys)</td></tr></tbody></table><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">But it was also true that the Russian domination was deeply unpopular. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">While most of the world loved it when Spain dominated the Football stage, or Brazil did, or even the West Indies did, in cricket, the same was not true of Russia’s emerging hegemony over Women’s Figure Skating. Medvedeva and Zagitova, Sotnikova and Lipnitskaya, or the three Quad-Queens of 2022 were not seen with the affection or adoration of tennis or golf rivalries. Their domination was, somehow, resented.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Some of that was justified. Russian performances in sport have been seen as tainted, not only with the scandal of doping (for which they have been banned from competing under the national flag), but also for the association with the dictatorship of Vladmir Putin (whose recent war on Ukraine has led to fractures in many sports over the question of what to do about Russian athletes). <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">In a sport with the small but dedicated fanbase of Figure Skating, passions run high, and a good deal of childish hatred and vitriol can come to the fore. For Americans, especially and the American media, which has never quite come to terms with the fact that it has been nearly 20 years since they had a competitive women’s singles skater (Sasha Cohen), resentment of the Russian skaters is a given. To hear them go about it, Russian skaters have their points supposedly inflated, their jumps are not clean, their routines are predictable…insert suitable excuse here. The fact that the identical things could be said about US performance in other subjectively-scored sports is besides the point. And if what-aboutery was to be given its day in the sun, it could have been pointed out that Simone Biles, the 'golden girl' of US Gymnastics, has performed her entire career using methylphenidate (Addewiz / Ritalin) under a 'thereapeutic exemption'. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The opacity and general thuggishness of Russian official-dom has not helped, and even those inclined to be sympathetic and appreciative of the Russian athletes do not stint in criticising the Russian Figure Skating Federation, and rightly so.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">When the news of the drug test result broke, the Russian Federation focussed on the long gap to the results being announced (six weeks is undoubtedly unprecedented and ridiculous), saying it pointed to foul play. There was some merit in the allegation—after all, had the result been announced in a week (elite athletes’ samples are normally tested in three days, and Kamila is nothing if not an elite athlete), or even four, Russia would simply have sent Tuktamshayeva, who would still have been a medal prospect. Valieva would've got a six-month suspension as a minor, and no medals would have been at stake. But they made their case adversarially, resentfully. They made their case like a Russian man, drunk on vodka, standing in the middle of an icy road, hurling insults at passersby.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">They don’t like that in the English-speaking world. They don’t like that in America.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The world needs a villain<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">It was, therefore, a lot of baggage that the Western Media needed to unload, and the failed drug test provided a wonderful landing dock, as it were. Had it been directed only at the Russian Federation, Eteri Tutberidze and the people around Kamila, it might still have been justifiable, but much of it was directed at the athlete herself. A girl who was, let us remember, fifteen, and living under a regime where it can be comfortably inferred she had little-to-no control over her daily routine or what she ate and drank. For the record, the defence offered by Valieva’s family was that she had accidentally mixed her grandfather’s heart medication with her own vitamin supplements. As defences go, it was so disingenuously stupid as to almost feel ‘too dumb to be fake’.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">For four days, Kamila Valieva bore the weight of a world’s hatred upon her shoulders. Hundreds of photographers lined every place she might be. Walking from the practice rink to the competition rink, a barely thirty-feet ramp, meant the glare of a hundred flashing cameras. She took to walking with a hood over her face. One can only imagine what she could have been feeling. Or, to be honest, one can’t. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">To be fifteen, and to feel like everyone considers you the worst person in the world?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I’d hope no child of mine ever has to feel that way.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The Olympic Committee, meanwhile, announced that while she would be allowed to compete, in the event of Valieva winning a medal, there would be no medal ceremony (they had already postponed the ceremony for the Team Event—to this day, medals have not been awarded to either Russia, USA, or Japan). As solutions go, it was perhaps the best they could make of a bad situation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">On the day of the long skate, things went as per script for most of the night.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Alexandra Trusova was the first of the medal contenders to compete. She was incandescent. A performance of strength and fury, the red-head burst into the rink like an explosive device and uncorked a record number of quad-jumps, five to be precise, all executed perfectly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlC5wuoNJguJJg2qMITD9p4WhgMj1teAhbqQjD-T04tiZvyNZddjy6iHQysrxrBe0_Z3aOspUMIUt6b8DIz98fhWEIBk8lHP4tyBovmBpSYI6lXQo17Ud44GeKvArCtlb0RRZHVby109EU70vlImDmoM59OOv6lOu4ASv4_-VqsIHBDDfWu4yUSUVLVg/s696/trusova-696x464.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="464" data-original-width="696" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlC5wuoNJguJJg2qMITD9p4WhgMj1teAhbqQjD-T04tiZvyNZddjy6iHQysrxrBe0_Z3aOspUMIUt6b8DIz98fhWEIBk8lHP4tyBovmBpSYI6lXQo17Ud44GeKvArCtlb0RRZHVby109EU70vlImDmoM59OOv6lOu4ASv4_-VqsIHBDDfWu4yUSUVLVg/w400-h266/trusova-696x464.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How do I deal with the drama?<br />BITCH, I AM THE DRAMA!</td></tr></tbody></table><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Kaori Sakamoto had been the best non-Russian in the world for the last two years. She showed why. She was all grace and beauty, soaring high and gliding free. For all that, she still finished 25 points behind Trusova. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_L2vQmzIFFSaW6vyAWSp0FlpMpIYwvpHhroPN7h7WIVH4RxYz-nwjfz4Bbd2rg_tTKgPTsrsbKOxOCzFE-VV1IDM87W2kPPSAmGsW0gw0SB86iGO58d2MU0uwyJdMYCKWib7DBw84H-M8AVixLLNYC6YbPbGe63sthLNXc_DuV3fJRtp61EjHJ0ZsAA/s1200/kaori-sakamoto1-074329.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_L2vQmzIFFSaW6vyAWSp0FlpMpIYwvpHhroPN7h7WIVH4RxYz-nwjfz4Bbd2rg_tTKgPTsrsbKOxOCzFE-VV1IDM87W2kPPSAmGsW0gw0SB86iGO58d2MU0uwyJdMYCKWib7DBw84H-M8AVixLLNYC6YbPbGe63sthLNXc_DuV3fJRtp61EjHJ0ZsAA/w400-h225/kaori-sakamoto1-074329.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Always spectacular, always beautiful</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Anna Scherbakova glided and pirouetted, spiralled and flowed. She was flawless. Less flashy than Trusova, but more graceful, most would say. She finished with two points less than Trusova, but having a cushion of 7 points from the short program meant she was in the lead overall now.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbJVvR2ekgvrldz1jTugXe5ZW0LRZEzrW2dZMd5gXcHRub-9bBCXc_AlHi8tZQPHDgIKaCiu0gT7P01_0pNdlyRgjbLOx7z5R-fOYvHm6fxTBIW13g6PGdCHK2VuprptkfjCaNMlIl8EV-bFngS2DHvXCJnUixaaLzBg3uplscSquA_TOoOt55SZavg/s1920/6065af7815e9f9669e465458.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhbJVvR2ekgvrldz1jTugXe5ZW0LRZEzrW2dZMd5gXcHRub-9bBCXc_AlHi8tZQPHDgIKaCiu0gT7P01_0pNdlyRgjbLOx7z5R-fOYvHm6fxTBIW13g6PGdCHK2VuprptkfjCaNMlIl8EV-bFngS2DHvXCJnUixaaLzBg3uplscSquA_TOoOt55SZavg/w400-h225/6065af7815e9f9669e465458.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, I'm that good.</td></tr></tbody></table><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span>Less than a year earlier, in Tokyo, Simone Biles, at 24 years, older and more celebrated than Kamila, and with the full force of the world media backing her, had withdrawn from competition citing 'mental health' issues. </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: georgia; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: georgia; line-height: 28px;"><span>Here, in Beijing, Kamila Valieva, at 15 years and reviled by the same media, put blades on ice. Perhaps she never really had the choice to withdraw. </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">If she felt the crushing weight of being the western world’s least popular person (a title she would soon bequeath to Good Old Vlad Putin, but that’s another story), she did not show it. Her face was a mask.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">She even had a good first element. But then, the façade broke. She fell. And she fell again. And again. And again.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Kamila Valieva, who had not lost a competition in a year, had fallen four times during one routine. She was still the fifth-best skater that evening, for even with a face barely holding back what must have been a storm of emotions, even as she lived through her dream being crushed under her blades, she never became completely ragged, she never lost her mastery of lines and forms. But even before the scores were put up, even as she left the rink, she broke down. The dam burst, and tears flowed like the Volga that flows beside her hometown.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWppIWpG3HfbUQjUN4jx8vBJLgcGi2cvUEcWZUBtkFdvUcXz0OSXr7A6elOhxUdGadweqYuH8yXuNpMbkUDoTCUZDvgdjGaM6fVUWHFcpflS_QWiK-TmGdwio-GIHW06c9IsWg8a-yJEly7u4MXaNoSXmvapRaq_Tfr6PhAJCrJdhCXmamC3rxSPWcA/s1050/17olympics-briefing-kamila-valieva-facebookJumbo.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="1050" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWppIWpG3HfbUQjUN4jx8vBJLgcGi2cvUEcWZUBtkFdvUcXz0OSXr7A6elOhxUdGadweqYuH8yXuNpMbkUDoTCUZDvgdjGaM6fVUWHFcpflS_QWiK-TmGdwio-GIHW06c9IsWg8a-yJEly7u4MXaNoSXmvapRaq_Tfr6PhAJCrJdhCXmamC3rxSPWcA/s320/17olympics-briefing-kamila-valieva-facebookJumbo.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">She was far from the first skater to leave a rink in tears, or even the hundredth. We have seen it before—they skate to the edge of the rink, where their coach or team-mates envelop them in hugs and words of comfort. But for the first time on this stage, viewers were treated to seeing a skater go to a completely indifferent team. Eteri Tutberidze seemed to scold Kamila for her failures rather than comforting her. It would be slow, agonising minutes before a male team member finally seemed to offer some words of comfort, and but he then drifted off again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The totals were tallied up. Valieva would finish fourth, out of the medals. As she sobbed, she mouthed out, in Russian, “At least now the other girls will get their medals, they won’t suffer because of me.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">In the waiting room, Anna Scherbakova looked on, stunned. Her face expressed nothing but shock. For some reason, there seemed to be no joy behind it, as though this was not the circumstances in which she would have wanted to win. Alexandra Trusova was furious. She had just pulled off the most audacious jumping routine in skating history, scored more points than anyone else in the long program, and still finished second. Perhaps it was not that she did not realise she was not in the lead until then, but more that she resented the world that did not give her gothic superstardom the due it deserved.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Only Kaori Sakamoto, coming into competition expecting nothing, was feeling it sink in that she was now an Olympic medalist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The girls came out from the waiting room to the rink. The Japanese officials and coaches crowded around Kaori in joy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">On the Russian side, there was…nothing? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">No one came to congratulate the winners. Everyone mucked around at a distance from one another, letting Scherbakova and Trusova deal with what was happening with all the famed maturity of sixteen-year-olds.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Scherbakova, new-minted gold medalist, looked like she had witnessed a murder rather than enjoyed the defining moment of her career. She walked around, lost.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Trusova, new-minted silver medalist was throwing the sort of tantrum that only a sixteen-year-old with knee-length red hair can throw, screaming and shouting.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Kamila Valieva cried. And cried some more.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">There was a medal ceremony, eventually. Scherbakova managed a smile. Trusova did not bother, and had to be coaxed into stepping on the podium. Kaori Sakamoto showed unabashed delight. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Valieva left Beijing almost immediately. Trusova and Scherbakova stayed to be a part of the Gala exhibition, the former doing a power-packed Wonder Woman-costumed routine involving an element where she skated bent backward until her head touched the ground. Scherbakova dressed like an actual swan, feathers and all. Let’s just say she pulled it off.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVbz0yo6ggKscehkSjuTTYuTKKYugg5fxI1H716qkV_KUfpEGTPw8gQaJpyeahoZGe_Mm_9ic8KzXVKRbIhYb1kwsSDvo1Cfg5SO4ex5x5V3_oXiz9CuZ64rQrNpBLla0WxbPQ6FtD0GyQYdJONWAgoNeV61l7ArDWvoXoe--JJPF_y9mAsVPOuE0Hxw/s980/sasha%20WW.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="551" data-original-width="980" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVbz0yo6ggKscehkSjuTTYuTKKYugg5fxI1H716qkV_KUfpEGTPw8gQaJpyeahoZGe_Mm_9ic8KzXVKRbIhYb1kwsSDvo1Cfg5SO4ex5x5V3_oXiz9CuZ64rQrNpBLla0WxbPQ6FtD0GyQYdJONWAgoNeV61l7ArDWvoXoe--JJPF_y9mAsVPOuE0Hxw/w400-h225/sasha%20WW.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That tantrum was one thing, being a superhero is another.</td></tr></tbody></table><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">And at last, the circus was over.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Except, it was not.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">It ain’t over till the Vlad sings<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The Russians were incensed. A media narrative was built up at home that the dope test and everything surrounding it was a deliberate attempt by Western Powers to humiliate Russia (never mind that Russians still won Gold and Silver). Putin made it a point to congratulate Valieva in person, making her a sort of martyr, a patriotic figure for Russians to get behind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0xhPpkt3Hs6LXxcX2tOB0b54FMu6glWG3o6C-X1bQvH5sHwCVKWcjIfZAQ1AUU-3aB1KG7CtCRVMc8sani9KPpjB1Iljpjq1NChzawFv_rv8iZK-kaIcfnHGWsZ5bIyCiZLJQqvPyscl8Ikn9kBzyWQ4UGBh6PCdhWlT4ujH_U372rERtQlk1YDdUw/s860/nf-skate-260422.webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="573" data-original-width="860" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0xhPpkt3Hs6LXxcX2tOB0b54FMu6glWG3o6C-X1bQvH5sHwCVKWcjIfZAQ1AUU-3aB1KG7CtCRVMc8sani9KPpjB1Iljpjq1NChzawFv_rv8iZK-kaIcfnHGWsZ5bIyCiZLJQqvPyscl8Ikn9kBzyWQ4UGBh6PCdhWlT4ujH_U372rERtQlk1YDdUw/w400-h266/nf-skate-260422.webp" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To be fair, it might be a double</td></tr></tbody></table><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">At the same time, the appeals process had gone nowhere. Russian authorities were taking their own sweet time to go through the evidence, if at all they meant to go through it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The Russian invasion of Ukraine, meanwhile, led to the barring of Russian athletes by the ISU (Skating Federation). The fact that this was a double-standard, given other countries have not been banned for participating in military action in other parts of the world (most notably the USA in Iraq), has not been lost on some, though many others consider the ban too little and too late—by rights, Russian athletes should have been banned from competition after the revelations of state-sponsored doping came out years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Still, with no Russians in competition at international events, the banning or un-banning of Valieva became a matter of history rather than live urgency. By the time the 2022-23 season came around, the ISU held its own events and the Russian Fed held its own. Whether the judging at the Russian Grand Prix Circuit, as they called it, meant anything, it’s hard to say. Their events and scores will not count, and the victories amassed by Valieva and Tuktamshayeva, or the up-and-coming Akatieva and Petrosian will mean nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">For what its worth, Kaori Sakamoto has won almost every important event organised by the ISU. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">For what its also worth, Valieva has continued to skate in Russia. Her form is still perfect, but her jumps are less reliable than before. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_puV89vmMtClg-AMjVhtmGu43aIRMdF_eBrOzyVEHrRggqpRoSAk-I6YqjErVWmqyD3LkoWMKFAAI-CJ2AF0DXiizNggrc1dH_xFHcpZsrxpLWnakkgm-NrYGRsUURg-XcG2HvXHLJWJ9mfK59dDI4GhblR_4nDenR_01htQP0c4wp8HDXrO4O9cDxA/s1296/i.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="729" data-original-width="1296" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_puV89vmMtClg-AMjVhtmGu43aIRMdF_eBrOzyVEHrRggqpRoSAk-I6YqjErVWmqyD3LkoWMKFAAI-CJ2AF0DXiizNggrc1dH_xFHcpZsrxpLWnakkgm-NrYGRsUURg-XcG2HvXHLJWJ9mfK59dDI4GhblR_4nDenR_01htQP0c4wp8HDXrO4O9cDxA/w400-h225/i.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Her fate is in limbo, in theory. Whether she will try and compete internationally, it is hard to say. All reporting points to her being from an impoverished background, meaning she is heavily incentivised to toe the Government line and do whatever she is told.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">A spotlight was briefly shone on Eteri Tutberidze and Sambo-70. Tales of her brutal coaching methods bordering on abuse, her bullying, her encouraging of eating disorders and her lack of empathy (this last had been captured on camera very clearly in that long program’s live telecast to the world) were put out regularly. But she is still very active, and still seems to have the cream of Russian talent in her stable. If anything, Putin and his pals in the media seem to continue to lionise her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Most significantly, Valieva seemed to stand by Tutberidze, even performing a routine in the post-Olympic season that seemed to dramatize what had happened to her as some sort of witch-hunt conducted by Western Powers. The fact that her eyes have acquired a sort of permanent sadness only seems to add to the impact. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Anna Scherbakova claimed an injury and sat out the whole season after her gold. Apparently she is busy now shilling NFTs to Chinese fans (of which she has many), and it is unlikely she will return to competitive skating.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Only Alexandra Trusova has proved rebellious, quitting Sambo-70, but whether this was a statement, or merely an act of young, possibly foolish, love (her new coach is her boyfriend’s coach as well), we cannot know. She has dealt with injuries as well, but seems determined to continue to skate. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">There is some talk now of re-admitting Russian skaters to international competition by the Olympic Committee. If the ISU does the same, there is a real possibility that the 2023-24 season could see more controversy. (Update: Not this year.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">It’s also a real possibility that it will get very ugly. In fact, it’s almost a certainty, which is why it might not happen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">So Kaori Sakamoto and the rest will likely rotate in their own orbit, while Kamila and Alexandra remain in theirs, a sport of high artistry tainted by a series of ugly events.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Looking back, it feels as though there were so many ways this could have been handled better. The Russians could have accepted the doping test, pleaded for a shortened suspension period and settled for losing the Team Gold. Valieva would have served the ban (moot, in any case, if Russia would have invaded Ukraine anyway) and returned to competition about now, in mid-2023 or even earlier. Or they could have appealed, pulled Valieva from the singles anyway and tried to hold on to the Team medal if the appeal was upheld. Note that, in either case, <i>they were pretty much assured of winning singles gold</i> through Scherbakova or Trusova. There was no one on the rink that night that was going to come within twenty points of either. And that would have been better, no doubt, for Valieva’s mental health too. She would have been just as much the 'wronged martyr', and she could have come back after serving the ban, still good enough, I am sure, to compete at the top level. After all, though Eteri Tutberidze rarely works with girls after they hit puberty, if anyone has the skill to maintain her standard, it's Kamila.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">But its unlikely the Russian Federation was particularly bothered about the athlete, or her longevity. Perhaps all they saw, and cared about, was that 'podium sweep'.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Tainted artistry<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Yet, as I said, Kamila Valieva still skates. She skates in domestic competitions, and more joyously, it seems, in ‘galas’, including her ‘Wednesday’ routine which briefly went viral.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_qIjey2Bx_M" width="320" youtube-src-id="_qIjey2Bx_M"></iframe></span></div><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">And still, to see Kamila Valieva skate, is to forget all the ugliness, the controversy, the rumours and the allegations. To see Kamila Valieva skate is to see a sight it will never not be a privilege to behold. To see Kamila Valieva skate is to remember that, perhaps, in another world, where no heart medicine landed, by error or design, into the glass of someone who clearly never needed it, we could all have agreed we were looking upon something beyond our understanding. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">To have seen <i>that </i>Kamila Valieva skate, would have been to gaze upon the divine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">But that Kamila Valieva skates in a world that is not this one.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">And that, I think, is a sad, sad thing.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">--</div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p>Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-53242114056525588742023-04-03T15:52:00.003+05:302023-04-03T19:36:23.450+05:30 POSSESSION, or, DOES FAITH MURDER CHANCE IN A SUBWAY TUNNEL?<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> POSSESSION, or, DOES FAITH MURDER CHANCE IN A SUBWAY TUNNEL?</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFNL_vCucyU1XIur8BRelxEg9x7VGkIF6YIGCGylDpe7_C038bER7OWUZSp7kYodKMSd-nLD_k7uhhJEW4xCwFfAyGvP3JA5NzlhlV2QwlgFNPlAL-0bGTTqKcFHzHHcrnxeMSjZ1xQZ4aISk3bZc7TS0N1ZpYG7VtANuIh_cBpLbohEWV3JfdqWYUcw/s1600/$_57.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1025" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFNL_vCucyU1XIur8BRelxEg9x7VGkIF6YIGCGylDpe7_C038bER7OWUZSp7kYodKMSd-nLD_k7uhhJEW4xCwFfAyGvP3JA5NzlhlV2QwlgFNPlAL-0bGTTqKcFHzHHcrnxeMSjZ1xQZ4aISk3bZc7TS0N1ZpYG7VtANuIh_cBpLbohEWV3JfdqWYUcw/s320/$_57.jpeg" width="205" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">(English, 1981)</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Dir: Andrej Zulowski</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Does 'Possession' have as many disparate elements as a Cronenberg creature? For a while, it certainly seems that way. Wending its way through a divorce drama psychological to creature horror to 'did the world just end?' horror, the film seems to be a collection of parts rather than a coherent whole. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Set in West Berlin, 'Possession' begins with Mark (Sam Neill, from long before his appearances on 'Jurassic Park'), a cold war spy, returning from an assignment to his home where he finds his wife Anna (Isabelle Adjani shortly after her star-making turn in 'Adele H') seeking a separation. What begins as a story about how people in divorces can hurt each other quickly veers into a different territory as Anna exhibits some very odd behaviour. Mark continues his pursuit of Anna however and even confronts her lover. So far, it is a disturbing story, but still appears to follow the tropes of a divorce drama.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">When a detective actually tracks down Anna to a secret apartment in an abandoned building, the movie becomes something else. Now coming thick and fast upon us are images of gore and squick, the director throwing the grossness at us with what appears to be unabashed glee.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Death and dismemberment follows in a cityscape bare of people, with desolate surroundings, always-messy interiors in nice, clean buildings and scrupulously clean floors in decrepit buildings. Anna's doppleganger Helena shows up. Heinrich (her former lover) too visits her secret apartment. Mark joins in on the murderous action. Various characters have sex with each other. Various characters hold each other's hand. Pink socks become important. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And then things get worse.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtiILvuQphhLgDvFU5IW4TOuS5A0FSn8nGHafa95nmV38GdfWABBB23yvCpI2tbvWIf86vEs5wYxT_EPWGr2GTmU5-Z5fNO6ih6xp6tn48-2wDn329xiBjsflMHUsxWZ_aiNB1Y_mLKxRK6FEbhwPcvR_BQeHCO4GArzrM2rXgPhde9FaWkFc4o5acgg/s1782/possession1981.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="878" data-original-width="1782" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtiILvuQphhLgDvFU5IW4TOuS5A0FSn8nGHafa95nmV38GdfWABBB23yvCpI2tbvWIf86vEs5wYxT_EPWGr2GTmU5-Z5fNO6ih6xp6tn48-2wDn329xiBjsflMHUsxWZ_aiNB1Y_mLKxRK6FEbhwPcvR_BQeHCO4GArzrM2rXgPhde9FaWkFc4o5acgg/w389-h192/possession1981.webp" width="389" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">By the end, when the credits roll, if you are left wondering what you just saw, that's possibly by design, but this is not the 'WTF' reaction exacted by many French film-makers, or even David 'WTF' Lynch. It is combined with a sense of relief that it is over. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">For 'Possession' is exhausting. It's like being battered with blunt instruments while piercing screams play in the background. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">In trying to understand why, I sought to separate the facets of the film. The camera-work is top-notch, the framing perfect for the effect sought to be created, for which one should credit Bruno Nuytten (who would go on to direct Camille Claudel). The acting is also fantastic, which I will come to later. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But the script...that seems to be where the bulk of the blame would lie. The director also wrote the script for 'Possession', and the blame, if we are to call it such, is laid easily, for Zulowski clearly wrote the script in a disturbed state of mind, while going through his own divorce. Moreover, this is a French-German collaboration that, for reasons unknown, was made in English. And the disconnect shows. With only Sam Neill (A New Zealander) being at home in the language among the cast and possibly the crew, there is a sense of disconnect that contributes to the atmosphere of separation that pervades the film. The dialogue comes across as flowery to the point of being a joke. Incongruous language is delivered with theatrical flourish by actors lurching from side to side. The pacing is off, somehow, going along sometimes at a speed that does not allow for understanding, and the editing often renders the events on screen incomprehensible, making the central theme (the pain of separation, I speculate, for humans and countries) so obtuse as to be completely misconstrued by the end.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">If all this sounds faintly ridiculous, it is, a little. But far more than that, it is disturbing, unsettling, often deeply so, and undoubtedly, for all its flaws, riveting.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The credit for holding the film together rests on the shoulders of Isabelle Adjani; shoulders which must have attained a strength far beyond their apparent delicateness over the course of her career. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPUKBN9NxcESWiB4_Ij0pG9p-RdiUQJNe5IyjQIwpsqAcEuk8_zQslEbKW6i-Uabu7hBWuwZvTMoThEKiaTyNCnqsgetFSVlrR1sQV_Xilu7TbQXnKPUbLmg78GYk8HKf2g-nPgg0PZhWmH5hPtAnl0qG_ZydmPG6bJYFXGJSkoWu0_oX4VDQycNvhTQ/s1296/Possession%201981%20movie%20pic2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="1296" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPUKBN9NxcESWiB4_Ij0pG9p-RdiUQJNe5IyjQIwpsqAcEuk8_zQslEbKW6i-Uabu7hBWuwZvTMoThEKiaTyNCnqsgetFSVlrR1sQV_Xilu7TbQXnKPUbLmg78GYk8HKf2g-nPgg0PZhWmH5hPtAnl0qG_ZydmPG6bJYFXGJSkoWu0_oX4VDQycNvhTQ/s320/Possession%201981%20movie%20pic2.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">It is remarkable that she is able to portray vulnerability when Anna needs to be vulnerable, and diabolical when Anna needs to be diabolical, and do both equally convincingly. It is mind-blowing that she is able to radiate both feelings at the same time. And yet, this is Isabelle Adjani. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Had the film cast Judy Davis (as was planned when Adjani's agency turned Zulowski down), or anyone else, it is certain 'Possession' would have been yet another obscurity of European cinema, a 'neither here-nor-there' film that could not decide whether it was horror or drama or even what kind of horror it was. But Adjani did eventually come around, and so we end up with a film that is still a 'neither here-nor-there' film, but now it is a 'neither here-nor-there' film that has one of the finest actors in the world carrying out a role of a lifetime. Bringing her intense physicality to the film, Adjani makes Anna into a maddening, haunting creature whose every movement speaks volumes and fixes the viewers attention to the screen. Completely unpredictable as the character is, it is the talent of the actress at never letting the viewer know what to expect next, but making what happens next perfectly believable, that allows 'Possession' to rise above the disjointed nature of its script.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Whether I would positively recommend 'Possession', I do not know. It is something of an artefact, a film made by a Polish director in Cold War Germany using a divorce and creature horror to make a statement about separation that ends up being too close to gibberish to really have an impact. But it also features some extraordinary flourishes from actors who gave a lot of themselves to their roles, and whose subsequent careers rightly speak to their talents.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">So I suppose i would leave it as something that, if you do choose to watch - should be watched at the viewers own risk.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7_58C1VauRhpA4AoTlQC1ehqmUQC-IP3Y-e6i-XtzV8EA9BSjijTnG_Ty6YSDLimOSWZSc9S9l9BCi-U-fBE1pV5rHM8RVlD2BBQhixJCcRkJUQ33lq_l5TMS0A30c6ZV-ss4CMwygSC1R_fpFMj9JRAj6I9NSzlG7rhu7Q0qhXJZxOv5_vxflhF_eg/s1102/a62eea214a4fd4027f5813c25f545296.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1102" data-original-width="735" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7_58C1VauRhpA4AoTlQC1ehqmUQC-IP3Y-e6i-XtzV8EA9BSjijTnG_Ty6YSDLimOSWZSc9S9l9BCi-U-fBE1pV5rHM8RVlD2BBQhixJCcRkJUQ33lq_l5TMS0A30c6ZV-ss4CMwygSC1R_fpFMj9JRAj6I9NSzlG7rhu7Q0qhXJZxOv5_vxflhF_eg/s320/a62eea214a4fd4027f5813c25f545296.png" width="213" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div>Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-77639597220060022952023-03-06T12:15:00.005+05:302023-03-06T12:22:07.837+05:30Why Writers' Wink and Authors' Angst, but mostly a Reviewer's Rant<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">A scroll through my blogger dashboard tells me that I wrote my first review in May 2015; a short piece about Salman Rushdie's 'Shame'. But that isn't the first one I actually wrote, I'm sure, as I had another blog earlier. Still, let's use May 2015 as our starting point. It tells me its been eight years, give or take. And I also see that the pace of reviewing slacked off over the years. Part of this could be attributed to the pace of reading itself slacking off. I don't read as much as I used to, or would like to. But there are other reasons, too, and those are what i am going to talk about today.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">First off, let me make it clear that I had no great ambitions when I started putting down my thoughts about the books I have read. I did not have any intent of being published in the Paris Review or NYRB (as a matter of fact, I had no idea of the existence of the NYRB until I came across it in the lockdown). I only wanted to express my thoughts about the books I read. Mostly, really, for my own reference. Having reached a time of my life and having gone through events that have left me unsure whether I will get to re-read any of the books I am reading currently, I thought it would be nice to try and put down my feelings about them, if for nothing else, than to leave me with an easy memory-stimulator for future reference for myself and as a way for anyone who wished to have a little reference guide for the said books. Maybe there was a little bit of self-importance involved in putting them up on the blog, I wouldn't care to deny it, and also a desire to keep updating it, for I was not writing enough original content to call myself a regular blogger.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But back then, eight years ago, I found a little audience, those who enjoyed reading my reviews and telling me that they did. And it was nice, it encouraged me to continue reading and writing, and not just reviews, at that. As the days passed, however, I began to get 'requests to review'. I suppose I was a part of 'Book-Facebook', which was the precursor to Booktok and Bookstagram and whatever else is going on in that world now. Now sometimes these requests would be from authors themselves, and sometimes from publishers. I tried to turn them down, but never quite knew how. It sounded churlish to say 'no', without having a good enough reason. It sounded too snobbish to say, "I would rather not, because I don't think it's likely to be very good and I would rather read and review good books". But most of all, I felt my objectivity to be compromised. I felt an obligation to say good things about the books I was reviewing. I might mercilessly point out the (oh so, so many) flaws in the output of Amish, or righteously bring out how Chetan Bhagat's talents at capturing bourgeoise-India's zeitgeist was not enough to balance out his innate flaws as a story-teller and craftsman, and it would be an accurate assessment that would make little difference to either of them as they laughed all the way to the bank, but it felt wrong to be that critical of a hopeful amateur who, let's face it, was not likely to be making money from the book anyway. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">So I tried to find good things to say about those books, often looking for those needles of gold in massive haystacks of redundant, half-baked, unfiltered text. It was stressful, though, and I didn't like doing it. I'd also like to mention here that this was not the case for every such book I was reading; some were genuinely jewels in the rough, unexpected little treats that almost restored my faith in the writing community, until the next would bring me back down to earth.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Eventually, I stopped. Changes in circumstances had made it impossible to read more than a couple of books a year, and I barely had the energy to write reviews either. Eventually the requests stopped coming in as well, and life became peaceful.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Until I woke up today to be told that Blogger had unpublished a review I had written because it violated their 'Spam policy'. This is, on the face of it, ridiculous. The review is a full-length book review, nothing more or less. It has only a few back-links to other reviews on the same blog, and I did not share it randomly in places where such reviews might not be welcome. If anything, I barely shared it at all. After all, it was not a particularly favourable review, and so I had no reason to promote it. I had tried to find good things to say, but I had stopped well short of indulging in false praise. I saw no reason to share that widely; </span><span style="font-size: large;">I did not even post the review to Goodreads or Amazon, </span><span style="font-size: large;">for no author deserves that, even worse ones than whoever wrote that particular book. I did not even post the review to Goodreads or Amazon.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And yet, Blogger informs me it is unpublished? And that, due to a complaint? More to the point, seven-and-a-half years AFTER it was originally put up?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Something is not sitting right about this. And since I assume Google (Alphabet?) to be a faceless mega-corporation with no personal interest in troubling me, this means the person making the complaint had an objection to the content of the review.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I can draw conclusions, I suppose, and they aren't pretty.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But if anyone ever feels the need to ask me to review a book they have written, they can damn well forget about it.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>If anyone feels they would like to read the review that was taken down to determine for themselves whether it was, indeed, Spam, it can be found <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/0B5ny2im4x43oWkdaalZqZGp3aEE/edit?usp=sharing&ouid=105657196016404012392&resourcekey=0-PxI_g8XoeaGngtrjb1DXjQ&rtpof=true&sd=true" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">here</a></i></span></div>Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-26418391352522644512021-12-12T19:59:00.005+05:302021-12-12T23:50:48.307+05:30TWO DUNES, A BOOK AND A JOKE<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;">TWO DUNES, A BOOK AND A JOKE</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnfCrM7mwL8xhEjm8v4b0T9h4h_PQcfXYS1xafdH_MLFKxt_Nwdoe_QmiSJcF1az1oMdubZu71tS3d0peHZ8gEDGAnOfO1jzIn_ivVQtBHpCZys0UqX_HsComoMwe0ClissjWEjMBX3_ZOVy4YzpkbVVKZVA7fFYy3okF1iq2GvydUsvhECa_PAxWluw=s800" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="566" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnfCrM7mwL8xhEjm8v4b0T9h4h_PQcfXYS1xafdH_MLFKxt_Nwdoe_QmiSJcF1az1oMdubZu71tS3d0peHZ8gEDGAnOfO1jzIn_ivVQtBHpCZys0UqX_HsComoMwe0ClissjWEjMBX3_ZOVy4YzpkbVVKZVA7fFYy3okF1iq2GvydUsvhECa_PAxWluw=w283-h400" width="283" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poster for Dune (1984)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">David Lynch’s <i>Dune </i>is a joke.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">That statement is kind of a given. If you’re enough a Film Buff to know a bit more about movies than merely what’s playing in theatres this week and have the curiosity to have read about film rather than just viewing it, you would know that David Lynch’s <i>Dune </i>is a joke.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">There are reasons why it is considered so. It famously made just under $31 million against a production budget of $40 million. This was in spite of being released at a time where the film-going market was clearly accepting of Sci-Fi (I know, <i>Star Wars</i> is more ‘Space Opera’ than Science Fiction, but the distinction is blurry from a marketing perspective), and being based on a novel that was hugely popular. Audiences at the time termed it incomprehensible, too dense, and simply found much of it rather camp.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">And yet, the fact remains that, where a disaster like <i>Dune</i> should have seen its director sink into oblivion, Lynch only went from strength to strength, and is now commonly considered one of the greatest creative minds of his generation.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">Talk to any adherent of Lynch, and they will point to any of his other works rather than Dune as an example of his art. <i>Mulholland Drive</i>, that failed TV pilot that became a film that is routinely considered the best English film of this century. <i>Blue Velvet</i>, a near-perfect ode to small-town ugliness. <i>Twin Peaks</i>, which basically took television as it existed, threw it out of the window, and re-shaped it in its own image. Even Lynch’s idiosyncratic weather reports on radio and YouTube are more likely to be mentioned than that one time he had a massive budget and a guaranteed blockbuster on his hands.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">But what about the film itself? Severed from its director’s reputation, removed by the passage of decades from its commercial failure, and given what is considered the best fan-edit it is likely to ever get from Spicediver (a faceless person, who may well just be a simple man trying to make his way in the galaxy), how does it stack, as a film and as an adaptation?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">David Lynch’s <i>Dune </i>opens on the ethereally beautiful visage of <b>Princess Irulan</b> (<b>Virginia Marsden</b>), delivering exposition, explaining to the audience what the political system of the Galaxy is, and the central importance of the substance called ‘spice’, and the planet where it is mined, ‘Arrakis’.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHdBTSmy0cgprP-MBNp-qmXfPwa6tdnSJ9_a-pxwcqq5EAXncEj5HQuTSj8W49ez2OKdz4a9udG5khA2Yq6Qn-uqHhStJ_UwIwbz2YhgwFXClH3XYiZYvj01A02nwyamcdYEGkt4Smhn3MErcnQvL3OcjR4qd_TsC1BcUs6COLtmtlTGB13fck4w2rLA=s1366" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1366" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHdBTSmy0cgprP-MBNp-qmXfPwa6tdnSJ9_a-pxwcqq5EAXncEj5HQuTSj8W49ez2OKdz4a9udG5khA2Yq6Qn-uqHhStJ_UwIwbz2YhgwFXClH3XYiZYvj01A02nwyamcdYEGkt4Smhn3MErcnQvL3OcjR4qd_TsC1BcUs6COLtmtlTGB13fck4w2rLA=w474-h267" width="474" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Princess Irulan explains...</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">A lot of people would say it only goes downhill from there.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">In Spicediver’s edit, there is a lot more exposition to come, which is missing in the theatrical cut. The Head of the Bene Gesserit order, its Reverend Mother, delivers some of it. The Reverend Mother of the order of the Sayyidina delivers more. And then, the protagonist, <b>Paul Atreides</b> (<b>Kyle Maclachlan</b>) watches a film-book that delivers even more. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">In fact, much of the first hour is just that—exposition. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">When the Atreides family arrives on Arrakis, the story finally makes a move forward, and the events that make the core of Herbert’s novel are set in motion—assassination attempts, betrayals, daring escapes, and the harsh desert. We are shown the designated villains, the Harkonnens, played with an insane, gleeful menace by <b>Kenneth MacMillan</b> as the Baron, <b>Jack Nance</b> as Nemud, Sting as <b>Feyd-Rautha</b>, Paul Smith as <b>Beast Rabban</b> and Brad Dourif as <b>Pitor</b>. We see the Fremen, the mysterious natives of Dune, living a nomadic desert-adapted life. And we are shown Dr Kynes (<b>Max von Sydow</b>), the Imperial Agent whose true loyalty lies to the planet, not his Emperor.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">Thus far, the film still holds up. But if the first hour is a slow but enticing journey, the second is fraying a little. The pace has picked up, but things; important things, as far as the story goes, are being left out.<o:p></o:p></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiU_Jh5iPJV4I2ERmruouec3qlnqj94PIp9tDKYIRW_uu5f7YdSb6ehO9V7LdkNRG5rxX2y52a2TSesRyD6vY1ETlfkfIKd9LnOmqqqAhkudSA8EuV2CWnRAIYOQ8wrb2H5pPYHv6nQmo2NSmf4KSirRdrY92WQ9GkY3RwGfMyTrQxibCScTVg54Px-2Q=s940" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="646" data-original-width="940" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiU_Jh5iPJV4I2ERmruouec3qlnqj94PIp9tDKYIRW_uu5f7YdSb6ehO9V7LdkNRG5rxX2y52a2TSesRyD6vY1ETlfkfIKd9LnOmqqqAhkudSA8EuV2CWnRAIYOQ8wrb2H5pPYHv6nQmo2NSmf4KSirRdrY92WQ9GkY3RwGfMyTrQxibCScTVg54Px-2Q=w400-h275" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paul and Chani (Kyle MacLachlan and Sian Young)</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">And then the last section hits. An entire half of a large book compressed into maybe forty minutes of screen time. Character arcs left out. Character development ignored. Phallic sandworms bow to a dreaming Paul Atreides. Chani kisses him, Stilgar embraces him and a lot of things happen…but yet, some of the book’s most important themes eliminated in favour of a more conventional narrative. The pace is breakneck now, and all the main characters assemble on Arrakis for the final confrontation, bringing Paul face-to-face with the Emperor and the Harkonnens, before ending in the edifying sight of Kyle MacLachlan and Sting leaping at each other with knives while <b>Jose Ferrer</b> as Emperor Shaddam and Princess Irulan watch, and Baron Harkonnen floats into a Sandworm.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgA0UuNlq594p-BPUDgyzsouZxDE0vAsTAYxL6un4PGNHT_LcYKan777mwhlS0qefw2YzjnoLb4fly2lf7yDwg9Cp_uhn6CPtzh3xFRIbY8I1CClUnD_Hs2fwWw6BVxxGZOmpDNOwJxPI5zO5Z2L5pZwQGsHxZO1Oa2bmH0VKncMiNF9AgSS5-T7zAijQ=s1600" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="1600" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgA0UuNlq594p-BPUDgyzsouZxDE0vAsTAYxL6un4PGNHT_LcYKan777mwhlS0qefw2YzjnoLb4fly2lf7yDwg9Cp_uhn6CPtzh3xFRIbY8I1CClUnD_Hs2fwWw6BVxxGZOmpDNOwJxPI5zO5Z2L5pZwQGsHxZO1Oa2bmH0VKncMiNF9AgSS5-T7zAijQ=w518-h220" width="518" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paul and Feyd-Rautha (Sting) duel as Irulan watches</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">It is a joke.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">But who is the joke on?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">XXX<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">Denis Villeneuve directed ‘<i>Arrival’</i> and ‘<i>Blade Runner 2049’</i>. If he did nothing else, those two would still make him one of the finest Science-Fiction interpreters of our time. ‘<i>Arrival’</i> is uncanny in its ability to focus upon communication, a niche aspect of alien contact and resist, stubbornly, the temptation to devolve into something more conventional. <i>Blade Runner 2049</i> is a symphony of violence and scale, somehow true to the spirit of Ridley Scott’s original and yet refreshingly different.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">For him to take on ‘Dune’, then, has a sense of justice to it, like a hand fitting a glove. An assembly that must have begun years ago, his vision of Dune brings together a tight script and a cast of well-known faces into a film that is vastly more coherent than the 1984 version.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-i-LjcS455mafN3s1whpXQhvq1mZKyfSjBgKWf7uqO8Y9dR_KJ2lSU4IuDoo6p-mG8t-Qt4FpNQhwuAjY6XXBcdprddretbEdjbBDEUAiwJVbS8Sa3USElweEW9O71ehtCpo_LkFsNU1RM3WpVbXvJqCKpwegyZtbkE0YPwpUmtj_c1e3-t1NgaWP7Q=s1483" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1483" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj-i-LjcS455mafN3s1whpXQhvq1mZKyfSjBgKWf7uqO8Y9dR_KJ2lSU4IuDoo6p-mG8t-Qt4FpNQhwuAjY6XXBcdprddretbEdjbBDEUAiwJVbS8Sa3USElweEW9O71ehtCpo_LkFsNU1RM3WpVbXvJqCKpwegyZtbkE0YPwpUmtj_c1e3-t1NgaWP7Q=w270-h400" width="270" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poster for Dune (2021)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">Some of this, of course, owes to the availability of technology. 2021 affords film-makers a scope that goes far beyond what was possible in 1984.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">But far more of it comes from things that have nothing to do with technology. Villeneuve’s ability to conceptualise a world like Dune, to execute it in stark greys and brutal whites, is what makes his vision of Dune work. It’s a perfect fit for the times we live in, it’s dramatic shots of sunlight and shadow, its framing of the characters in the screen in a manner reminiscent of paintings.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">In this vision of Dune, the story begins not with an ethereal Princess, but with washed-out visuals of the sands, and Zendaya, as <b>Chani</b>, delivering lines that are less exposition and more a mystical statement of conditions on Arrakis. The Atreides family then becomes the focus of the almost the entirety of what’s left of the film, from their homeworld of Caladan, where we see <b>Timothee Chalamet’s</b> Paul sleep in melodramatic poses and get snippets of training from his mother.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">The story steps are, naturally, similar to Lynch’s film, with more details and scenes that could be included here, due to the luxury of having two films to fit the story in. The attention to detail in sound mixing is evident and Vileneuve’s attention to detail and the clarity and sheer ‘cool’ of his conceptualisation makes for an at-time exhilarating experience. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhj48z7IftzaqNV1fBAuXf5JF2AZuiDGyVCJMJHZe0YrKyb1iGDcokDjc39n0ctvkruGcbR6TjxShfD_IEq1DW8guPPUxI60vOyInbJEF6xTcJJ8up8t228ZaPILvrhkMatoVK4KpuPVVaV86C3l78miBItdCpSZeJ1YmfqZB-sMKLeUS5FZS6wuhTCgg=s1200" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1200" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhj48z7IftzaqNV1fBAuXf5JF2AZuiDGyVCJMJHZe0YrKyb1iGDcokDjc39n0ctvkruGcbR6TjxShfD_IEq1DW8guPPUxI60vOyInbJEF6xTcJJ8up8t228ZaPILvrhkMatoVK4KpuPVVaV86C3l78miBItdCpSZeJ1YmfqZB-sMKLeUS5FZS6wuhTCgg=w510-h255" width="510" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Duncan Idaho (Jason Momoa) takes on the Sardaukar</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">The war scenes are grand, the camerawork making for a battle that has a sense of urgency and reality to it that surpasses the forced grandeur of superhero CGI-fests. The escape of Paul and Jessica is true to the novel, and Dr Kynes gets her (the gender is swapped in this version) moments to shine.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">The film’s final confrontation, settling in at about the half-way mark of the novel, is brief but effective, without any forced drama. When the titles roll, one knows one has seen a piece of serious cinema, a film that might have even, as some analysts put it, saved the concept of watching films in theatres for an industry ravaged by Covid lockdowns. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">If that is even partly true, the world owes more to Denis Villeneuve and Frank Herbert than we can quite conceptualise right now.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">XXX<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">But what of Frank Herbert’s novel? <i>Dune</i> is not just a science-fiction novel, after all, it is in many ways THE science fiction novel, codifying many tropes and taking the genre beyond Asimov and Clarke into a world where a Duke’s son with a Greek name can lead a <i>jihad</i> with desert-based warriors against a Slavic Baron with a nephew named Feyd-Rautha.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh33xYffmObfn46NSIYkVtd46MvdeF6n2cErT0EL3BHwKYQYeimAybEj9LlCRcEpnZBsdjwPr3hFw6r9eJe4dkZd88ugxhIuV7HBffhFbtOphBcS7so68HyrSFOsVQMWP3dueV82gAtLNB634jJKjYuCFI5qNSU69v1KRHD7H-gHc9_F7_Kk0Y7ABUymA=s1850" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1850" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh33xYffmObfn46NSIYkVtd46MvdeF6n2cErT0EL3BHwKYQYeimAybEj9LlCRcEpnZBsdjwPr3hFw6r9eJe4dkZd88ugxhIuV7HBffhFbtOphBcS7so68HyrSFOsVQMWP3dueV82gAtLNB634jJKjYuCFI5qNSU69v1KRHD7H-gHc9_F7_Kk0Y7ABUymA=w260-h400" width="260" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Book Cover for Frank Herbert's Dune</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">It is not a book for Tolkein’s lyrical flights or Asimov’s esoteric robot-rules or roman-history-disguised-as-the-future. It’s dense, it riffs on history, of course, but it’s not a history we know well, and its parable to real life is somehow more obvious but also less clear at the same time. There are myriad ways it is off-kilter, disorienting, and intensely <i>uncomfortable</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">In many ways, Dune follows a conventional hero’s journey, but this does not account for the many ways it does not, or the continuous self-reflection that inhabits its pages. The characters of Paul and Jessica, and even the likes of Stilgar and Gurney Halleck, are unlike most fictional characters. The Bene Gesserit are an order akin to both the Japanese Geisha and the Amazons, the Fremen are at once the Bedouin of <i>Lawrence of Arabia</i> and the Myrmidons of Homeric Greece, and Paul is as much ‘reluctant Frodo’ as he is ‘avenging Achilles’.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">That’s also why it’s been called ‘unfilmable’.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">And yet, we have two versions of the film, taken on by two directors propelled by heavy doses of courage and quite possibly also alcohol. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfdeVx5tKT3FriKk7mmkQYZ_JofEvCYfTJFAhPfrKMTk_Tgfgou4-0WaLWK94PTK0apCUIgclA00C4nLXjprc0A8Ic0g3mAvelqcwH9PKJSyuc8t9nJMj4VuzunFweB-Ee4lohV1nqA1-4gNvnyKV7_5W2v75YvHOxji3D-90RqttFcUWbTPOO1vyTuA=s1200" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjfdeVx5tKT3FriKk7mmkQYZ_JofEvCYfTJFAhPfrKMTk_Tgfgou4-0WaLWK94PTK0apCUIgclA00C4nLXjprc0A8Ic0g3mAvelqcwH9PKJSyuc8t9nJMj4VuzunFweB-Ee4lohV1nqA1-4gNvnyKV7_5W2v75YvHOxji3D-90RqttFcUWbTPOO1vyTuA=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Timothee Chalamet and Kyle MacLachlan</td></tr></tbody></table><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"><br /></span></p>A comparison between the two would seem to be redundant. Villeneuve’s is superior on almost every metric. The acting is more natural, more believable, the pacing is more coherent, the CGI far superior, and it has stood the most pertinent test—of being commercially successful. Dune (2021) may have saved an industry; Dune (1984) almost killed a career.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">The joke, it would seem, once again falls on the 1984 film, and it’s undeniably messy treatment. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">Or does it?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">Talk to lovers of Science Fiction, and a strange affection for Dune (1984) emerges. It’s not just from the Lynch-ists, the die-hards who watch <i>Twin Peaks</i> every year and write scholarly essays on the significance of Ronette Pulsaki. Those who love the other-ness of the novel <i>Dune</i>, those who revel in the minutiae of the Sci-Fi works, who have experienced the sense of it being a ‘movement’ before it was more a part of mainstream entertainment, point to David Lynch’s <i>Dune </i>as doing something just as significant as Villeneuve’s version—they say it saved Science Fiction. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">To understand that claim, one needs to look at cinematic mood in the the year 1984. Coming off the stupendous success of <i>Star Wars</i>, the idea of Sci-Fi was poised to enter the common language of the world. But <i>Star Wars</i> was also intertwined with melodrama—its good guys and bad guys were painted in shades of black and white (they would become greyer with time, but back then, not so much), and it was ultimately commercial, a vehicle to sell toys and comics and make money. But when Lynch made <i>Dune</i>, he fashioned it in his image; with phallic sandworms and psychedelic space travel, fish-men spitting beams of light to fold space and wars fought in pressure-suits. In one stroke, he de-commercialised Sci-Fi while leaving Space Opera intact. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2pfvPVsFWs-KCSbxDnu2i1j7295KpwI-D85YtQBQSt2CGnHteiwWiWPoBCK6pXYOrO15dV_6iRifsPh59rhsxXSAT0MoW1rbcrj6TirFMsU5rqRBt5TlHawOrDdTWeZHvC_JcHQyBrBI7GRT04lSYdgRFHRh-FnGen1Qqa4BfJgRjjOwE38iYnB-L5w=s400" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi2pfvPVsFWs-KCSbxDnu2i1j7295KpwI-D85YtQBQSt2CGnHteiwWiWPoBCK6pXYOrO15dV_6iRifsPh59rhsxXSAT0MoW1rbcrj6TirFMsU5rqRBt5TlHawOrDdTWeZHvC_JcHQyBrBI7GRT04lSYdgRFHRh-FnGen1Qqa4BfJgRjjOwE38iYnB-L5w=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dune (1984) action figures</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">Had Villeneuve’s Dune been the outcome, in 1984, one suspects that would not have happened. Though the outlook of the 2021 Dune is as serious as could be, it has the ingredients of the Hollywood Epic that Lynch does not even try to replicate. There’s every possibility that we could then have had Gurney Halleck dolls and Duncan Idaho action figures and Princess Irulan sex-pillows. But we did not, because Lynch did not make that sort of film at all. He made a David Lynch film.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">Where, outside the Lynch-ian vision, would you find Patrick Stewart as Gurney Halleck rush into battle with a pug (yes, the Vodafone pug) in one hand? Paul Atreides’ visions taking the forms of floating skeletal bodies? A furless cat as a poison-antidote? A floating Baron Harkonnen whose Doctor speaks only in rhyme? And a hundred other things that make a viewer pause and wonder ‘Did that really just happen?’<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">The aesthetic, the ethos, the vision of Lynch doomed his version of it, perhaps, from ever being a blockbuster. Perhaps that is for the best. A blockbuster-director Lynch would never have been able to make <i>Mulholland Drive</i>. And Villeneuve might not have got the opportunity to make Dune had that version been successful.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">But which vision is truer? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">There’s no easy answer. So much that is in Lynch’s film is not in Herbert’s novel, and yet it feels true to the novel. So much is in Villeneuve’s film that is better than in Lynch’s , but the question niggles at the back of the mind—is it meant to be this way? Is it meant to be better? Or is the very ‘wrong-ness’ of what Lynch came out with, integral to Frank Hebert’s <i>Dune</i>.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">Lynch’s actors ham endlessly; Ferrer as Emperor Shaddam chews the scenery with great gusto, Stewart’s Halleck delivers his most ridiculous lines with the cadence of a Shakespearean thespian, Kyle MacLachlan’s Paul Atreides wanders about the film like (very handsome) Harry Potter on weed. And let’s not forget Lynch’s skill at capturing women on film—Marsden’s Princess Irulan looks like a Goddess of beauty, <b>Francesca Annis</b>’ Jessica is absolutely regal and endearing, and <b>Sian Young’s </b>Chani is a poet’s dream. By contrast, there is no Shaddam in Villeneuve’s version; <b>Josh Brolin’s </b>Halleck is thoroughly professional, Chalamet’s Paul feels like a sincere student in his freshman year. There is no Princess Irulan at all, <b>Rebecca Ferguson’s</b> Jessica is too spare, too intimidating to be believable as a Bene Gesserit seductress, and Zendaya’s Chani is barely seen at all on the screen. Both <b>Jurgen Prochnow</b> and <b>Oscar Isaac</b> do justice to their Duke Leto’s, of course, and <b>Stellan Skarsgaard’s</b> Baron is certainly rather terrifying, as much if not more than Kenneth McMillan’s. <b>Dave Bautista’s</b> Beast Rabban is hardly seen, though, and there is no Feyd-Rautha. No Sting, glorious as Feyd-Rautha, in an absolutely Lynch-ian scene, emerging naked except for a wing-shaped speedo from a steam-bath, exists in Villeneuve’s vision.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"><a href="https://open.spotify.com/album/5C6579KEvJj9AWaZtjSflC?si=iwkhneeXRJGjmN6SOuDSOA" target="_blank">Dune (1984) Soundtrack</a><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://open.spotify.com/album/56k8ay5oE5apR61WIeE4wQ?si=nEk8GPdpT0yMI3LpUXls7g" target="_blank">Dune (2021) Soundtrack</a><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">One thing both films have, though, are soundtracks that are memorable. If Hans Zimmer delivers a desert-infused rhapsody, Toto’s soundtrack was a rock-and-roll symphony.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">Which version of them is the right one? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">We might actually never have the answer. For Lynch’s vision was never brought to screen. Executive meddling famously led to the release of a film that he never intended to release. Six hours of film, intended to be made into a four-hour, maybe a two-part film, was released clocking in at two hours and fifteen minutes. Even later, after he spoke of making a Director’s Cut, the studio had another insult to deliver Lynch, by making a TV movie of it with no inputs from him at all. Lynch would have his name removed from the credits and never speak of <i>Dune </i>again.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">In short, the joke was never <i>Dune</i> (1984) at all. The joke was on us, perpetrated by the producers. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">Remember that Virginia Marsden was contracted for three films; which meant that the entire series was at least vaguely planned to be brought to film by Lynch. Remember that Frank Herbert himself said that Lynch’s version, which he saw before the producers got to it, was very close to how he had imagined it. Remember that every actor on the film swears that the output they expected was so much different and better than what it eventually became. And consider that a world could have existed where the madness of Lynch could have truly embraced the madness of Herbert and think of what might have been.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">But we do not have that. And there were times that Villeneuve’s <i>Dune</i>, superb as it is, felt just a little colourless, a little devoid of that uniqueness that Lynch had brought.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">And yet…and yet…we never got those sequels from Lynch. Perhaps we never even really got a single Lynch film, given what we know of its history. What we do have, is a Villeneuve film that is absolutely grand, and I, for one, am grateful for it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">A vast vision has been brought to life, at last, and we are all the richer for it. For that, we should thank Frank Herbert, the man who had the vision in words, David Lynch, the man who gave it the flavour but had it taken from him and shown only in a flawed way, like seeing something through a stained glass, and Denis Villeneuve, the man who looks like he will, finally show it to the wider world as it should be, in stunning contrast and clarity. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">But some of us will miss that flavour.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;">And that’s the real joke.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNWGpmgFyZpOq0KiIrwmnEzSKaBChyNOMSN0ieQEFxuQUyMWiREIGztg60fzXXmV6NYNWuO5jRYErfu6PZEJAon3dYtSoyiI_2TtpNtMpSBBODADFVxX_aAS1UzS7azpbwEkW3bhBX0GtVt69g7Y09sYmRiIvW6fD7VWs-pBITud9fV7EjDH3ktPTGUw=s943" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="943" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjNWGpmgFyZpOq0KiIrwmnEzSKaBChyNOMSN0ieQEFxuQUyMWiREIGztg60fzXXmV6NYNWuO5jRYErfu6PZEJAon3dYtSoyiI_2TtpNtMpSBBODADFVxX_aAS1UzS7azpbwEkW3bhBX0GtVt69g7Y09sYmRiIvW6fD7VWs-pBITud9fV7EjDH3ktPTGUw=w550-h293" width="550" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 37.33333206176758px;"> </span></p>Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-67201242586646503032021-05-31T12:05:00.003+05:302021-05-31T12:05:52.787+05:30Dracula and the Hurricane (Drabble #7 - Come and get it)<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <span style="font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;">DRACULA AND THE HURRICANE</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWAN4ou_EWORm5ZiJddlKC_P8r9qi6LZyi3IilUEfxQVP9VHRvNF52lkqywNeujgRa1Y_5UlRL-oKFZipxPY5RSiUlJftfBpiVmVgYVLmHlLXifHIr_exeoEjT2K24Eo-r-O9Evic3bgSr/s791/Ray-Reardon.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="791" data-original-width="633" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWAN4ou_EWORm5ZiJddlKC_P8r9qi6LZyi3IilUEfxQVP9VHRvNF52lkqywNeujgRa1Y_5UlRL-oKFZipxPY5RSiUlJftfBpiVmVgYVLmHlLXifHIr_exeoEjT2K24Eo-r-O9Evic3bgSr/s320/Ray-Reardon.jpeg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He’s Ray Reardon. He used to work in the mines. He used to be a cop. He really only took snooker seriously when he began to make decent money from it. You were still in your diapers when he won his first tournament. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He’s good.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">No, that’s not it. He’s the best. He’s fifty years old, and he’s the top-ranked player in the world. He’s old-world, he’s polite, he’s loved by the club audiences. A pillar of the community, is Ray Reardon. Upstanding guy, Ray Reardon. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He’s got a superb long game. He’s got an outstanding defence. Do what you want to do, Reardon will outlast you. You can work your ass off, chipping away at his game, but Reardon will still be standing, with his slicked-back hair, his broad smile, and his sharp cue, ready to finish the frame and win the match, like an immortal figure, undefeatable, unkillable, unknowable. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Maybe that’s why they call him Dracula.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">He’s won this tournament before—four years in a row, six times overall. This is the lion returning to his turf, this is Ray Reardon, the King of the cue-game, the King of Snooker, and he’s here to take the trophy he no doubt thinks belongs to him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">*<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWJWxfmupZrKCmflfTLJvz7pWL3UCPCCJJ8Ygpafu05zhN7r71Jhk5fDEzEVyTUzj3rZa4aWCu-5BzLofl5Pa9eQ4hKftveXhfozHR7NVV29Eh5tISddxK79-ThYsVeGTfMjyMBZR2b1F_/s466/article-1297385-00DBD86800000190-297_468x370.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="341" data-original-width="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWJWxfmupZrKCmflfTLJvz7pWL3UCPCCJJ8Ygpafu05zhN7r71Jhk5fDEzEVyTUzj3rZa4aWCu-5BzLofl5Pa9eQ4hKftveXhfozHR7NVV29Eh5tISddxK79-ThYsVeGTfMjyMBZR2b1F_/s320/article-1297385-00DBD86800000190-297_468x370.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">You’re Alex Higgins. You failed out of school. You tried to be a jockey, but you failed at that, too. You never could hold down a job. When you won your first tournament, you were homeless.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But you’re good.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Snooker, you see, is the one thing you haven’t failed at. And oh, they hate you for it. You’re brash, you’re unpleasant, you’ve got a foul temper and a foul mouth, and the snooker establishment doesn’t know what to do with you. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But when the cue’s in your hand, when the balls are flying around the table, when the clock is ticking, when the world is watching, there’s never been anyone quite like you. You see angles no one else sees, you try shots no one else dreamed of, and for every time you pull it off, sure, there are three times you don’t—and no one remembers those three times, do they? When you do your thing, you terrify your opponents, who don’t seem to know what just hit them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Maybe that’s why they call you, The Hurricane.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">You’ve won this tournament once before—ten years ago. You were barely twenty-three. Everyone was sure it was a fluke. No one could play that fast, that well, and keep it up. But you did keep it up. Through the smoking, and drinking, and drugs, and women, you did keep your game up. People who had never thought of seeing a snooker match before come to see you play. You took the game out of the pubs and clubs and into the Television, for the ratings shoot up when you come to the table. Yeah, they call you the Hurricane, but the name you prefer? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">‘The People’s Prince’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And you’re here to take that trophy for the people.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And so, as you stare down the table at him, at old Ray Reardon, with his immaculate style and contented smile, his unflappable face and shiny black hair, you know there’s only one thing you can do as you both pose with the trophy only one of you will take away, after 33 gruelling frames played over two days. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">You stand there, next to it, a moment longer than he does, wait till the photographers’ bulbs have stopped flashing, and say,<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">“If you want it, you’ll have to <b>come and get it</b>.”</span><span style="font-family: Calisto MT, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0lqcaWoD_WW_Tu9VCsgW7rb4GGpBLa3VlbZVbG98aeQwcw-sCttC9JaxtrmlPGkwsDokGEHkOR8I-HzIk8-snYcugOrBunmyxnsptFd_gxaqCNlEFu-ESaPfeCZw75DHjZgHvJEq_VSrq/s1200/507332-22839657-2560-1440.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0lqcaWoD_WW_Tu9VCsgW7rb4GGpBLa3VlbZVbG98aeQwcw-sCttC9JaxtrmlPGkwsDokGEHkOR8I-HzIk8-snYcugOrBunmyxnsptFd_gxaqCNlEFu-ESaPfeCZw75DHjZgHvJEq_VSrq/w400-h225/507332-22839657-2560-1440.webp" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ray Reardon (L) and Alex Higgins (R),photographed before their <br />World Snooker Championships final, 1982</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></p>Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-62484976175481808162021-01-22T19:49:00.004+05:302021-02-08T20:26:41.385+05:30A Reading Retrospective on 2020<p><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;">A Reading Retrospective for 2020 should have, ideally, been put up in 2020, or at worst in the first week of January this year. But if 2020 taught us anything, it’s that the best laid plans of mice and men, go oft aft agley, or something like that, and so here we go, twenty-two days later, or however many it will be by the time this goes up.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Thankfully, this won’t be very long; I did not read all that many books this year, which, I suppose, has at least this silver lining.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">So here it goes, in no particular order:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Romantic Guerilla, by DS Kumar <o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">You know how you sometimes get this inexplicable craving to eat a vada pav? But you’re miles away from your regular vada pav guy (everyone has a vada pav guy, right?). It’s hot, you’re in an unfamiliar corner of some godforsaken suburb, and there’s a chap you can see selling the stuff. It’s greasy, messy and there’s no other customers. You don’t really want to, but you know you’re going to do it anyway. And so you shell out the money and take it in your hand and take the first bite, hating yourself already and—it tastes like vada pav. Not particularly <i>good </i>vada pav. You wouldn’t want to confess to your regular guy that you ate this. But it…is kind of all right. There’s potato. There’s besan. There’s a pav. The chutney has a tangy taste. You eat it all in a daze, knowing you may suffer unfortunate digestive after-effects, but in that moment, you know you could have done worse. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I guess I could have done worse than ‘Romantic Guerilla’, an unfiltered outpouring of wish-fulfilment fantasy that occasionally borders on pornographic. And that’s because the writer is quite unabashed about it. There is a plot. The characters, such as they are, are consistent in their behaviour. Even the misogyny is undisguised and unapologetic, it’s just…there. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">It’s the story of a start-up founder who gets into a corporate battle with a billionaire, and predictably loses. However, putting together a rag-tag team of people the billionaire has hurt in some way in the past, he exacts increasingly ridiculous retribution. Ultimately, when it’s over, you know you need not have read it, and probably should not have, but for what it is, it…just is.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0JCRvXWaN35XejjIAr-SjJOSxgZbgUjV3AEziJ_3Q8GkZVb5JeScaFQ-P0pNkSQhCwUfxdD2x7ehbcoF6FTQB1MJuNFjffRHWgHIsLaaWz_lI55yyrI_osSPit5EHSXcmYa-QQX2joV67/s550/Romantic+Guerilla.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="352" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0JCRvXWaN35XejjIAr-SjJOSxgZbgUjV3AEziJ_3Q8GkZVb5JeScaFQ-P0pNkSQhCwUfxdD2x7ehbcoF6FTQB1MJuNFjffRHWgHIsLaaWz_lI55yyrI_osSPit5EHSXcmYa-QQX2joV67/s320/Romantic+Guerilla.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Beren and Luthien, by JRR Tolkein<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Granted, it's more of an editorial commentary in parts than a single coherent narrative, and weaves back and forth between earlier and later drafts and poetry and prose, but this is still a shining showcase of JRR Tolkien's near-magical ability to transport a reader to an alternate universe using nothing but the written word.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The tale itself should be familiar to anyone who's read the Tolkien works beyond the most obvious two. Even if not, this story is referenced in Lord of the Rings by Aragorn on at least one occasion.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">This is, then, that story—of the first union of High Elf and Man, of the renegade Beren and the half-Maiar Luthien and their chance encounter among the hemlock flowers in the realm of Doriath. Of Thingol's impossible task, which Beren dared to do for the love he bore for Luthien, and how she defied her father to go after him, how they, together with Huan, Prince of Dogs, faced and threw down no less than Sauron (in an earlier draft Sauron is a Huge Cat, by the way. Make of that what you will), and their confrontation with Morgoth himself.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">It's a story of bravery and love, of pride and betrayal, of the shifting tides between good and evil and though the fact that it hops between drafts and formats would make it difficult to follow, it remains a stirring work of art; one of those whose beauty is often in what it doesn't explicitly say as much as it lies in what it does.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">And some images, indeed, stay with me—<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Of Luthien on cat's back, jumping from terrace to terrace of the Cat-castle;<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Of Beren entering Nargothorond, his father's ring held high,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Of Luthien's song in Morgoth's Halls, one elf contending against the mightiest creature on Middle-Earth,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">And of her dance in the silvery moonlight among the hemlock-flowers, which set in motion, in-and-out of the fictional world, the events that led to the War of the Rings.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwDtvyMU8FTaR1Hpiaq88E0-Oq7SSGC8yVNEtcTiee98hvnSXGngaGfZoErbAmsyictfA_8GDgvP9NMQsKsLWO6SK6zQWYlml1fdiYyKvwchB0kpXD7pik2V7capJprLdq7jM2tlOKEed/s332/220px-BerenLuthien.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="332" data-original-width="220" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAwDtvyMU8FTaR1Hpiaq88E0-Oq7SSGC8yVNEtcTiee98hvnSXGngaGfZoErbAmsyictfA_8GDgvP9NMQsKsLWO6SK6zQWYlml1fdiYyKvwchB0kpXD7pik2V7capJprLdq7jM2tlOKEed/s320/220px-BerenLuthien.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Don Quixote, by Miguel Cervantes<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Of Don Quixote itself, I shrink from saying too much. This was my third time reading this masterpiece, and each time, I think, the book told me different things. The first time I read it, back when I was twenty, it told me of a madcap Knight and his ridiculous squire going from one ridiculous adventure to another; the second time, it gave a social commentary on Spain at the time as well as the noble and plebian people who inhabited it; this time, it told me a near-tragic tale of a world that laughed at idealism that seemed to work as well in this century as it did when Cervantes wrote it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I did not much like the translation I read this time, however, and would suggest either the Edith Grossman version or the classic Wordsworth Editions translation.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVzDmWwBKamsO0qyksOrCFfP464l7iQBOCHvj05CaC-V-kBwSwXHcUUBbhOi_mGpQ_HqM8bEcKHnWaVTeu4vn2t0yc4x_55ANOXJc_7D_aEoM1gMRO7qUaZatyQpKX7wzkK1HwCRkp71se/s999/master-copy2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="999" data-original-width="772" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVzDmWwBKamsO0qyksOrCFfP464l7iQBOCHvj05CaC-V-kBwSwXHcUUBbhOi_mGpQ_HqM8bEcKHnWaVTeu4vn2t0yc4x_55ANOXJc_7D_aEoM1gMRO7qUaZatyQpKX7wzkK1HwCRkp71se/s320/master-copy2.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The Plague, by Albert Camus<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Reviewed in detail, giving this classic the space it deserves, <a href="https://percytheslacker.blogspot.com/2021/01/book-review-plague-by-albert-camus.html" style="color: #954f72;">here</a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Albert Camus’ chronicle of a plague breaking out in a coastal Algerian town might have felt too topical a book to read during the Covid pandemic, in Mumbai, but perhaps it was the only time such a book could be read without realising it was meant to be an allegory for fascism.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Or, given we live in a country where comedians are jailed for jokes they might have made; where film-makers are prosecuted for creative choices, and every person who has the guts to call the reigning government what it is, is held guilty of treason by an online lynch mob (if lucky), but an actual lynch mob, if not, perhaps it will be the perfect time to read <i>The Plague</i> at any time while we remain under its thumb.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOCSEf0jA7vs_IE7Bk9LKcxtyKNK8ZrUr_nkL9gtlmoXIMo7ckNH1GkUNotLFTojHRXAqVz_khtu_VcWSfLESJrFN3h0IXbfa2mFHfpTT9eP0ApyijnTpDp8rBaCbA8EWxArRXCieOv51R/s499/410EfCGarDL._SX331_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOCSEf0jA7vs_IE7Bk9LKcxtyKNK8ZrUr_nkL9gtlmoXIMo7ckNH1GkUNotLFTojHRXAqVz_khtu_VcWSfLESJrFN3h0IXbfa2mFHfpTT9eP0ApyijnTpDp8rBaCbA8EWxArRXCieOv51R/s320/410EfCGarDL._SX331_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The Man-Eating Leopard of Rudraprayag</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">My grandfather gave me my first Corbett when I was about 11, and I’ve read nearly all of the hunter-turned-photographer’s writing since then. Perhaps this is because Corbett never wrote like a hunter, but rather like a naturalist. His joy never seems to be in the hunt itself, nor is there any exultation about the kills he makes. As far as I could tell, Corbett took a stand early on that he would hunt only man-eaters, and even that he did with a resigned forbearance.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">But whether he was a good hunter, or a great one, as a writer about hunting and the Indian forests, he is hard to match. And in <i>Rudraprayag</i>, he writes some of his best work. The story unfolds almost like a horror novel, with the titular man-eater’s impact on the people of Kumaon meticulously documented and portrayed. Corbett does not shy away from documenting his own several failures either, freely conceding that the leopard outsmarts him, and indeed there are occasions when he is lucky not to have become one of his victims himself.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Given that he could not have written all that he did if that had happened, I suppose we should consider ourselves very lucky as well.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1lbAHnFElG6Zo7CV6otoRotBbpPm_4Z_KObCZ_DGNW3Ie7S72YU0sCxYQYIqNqVoVbDOkXwnH140-ZMe9rpcPYoKCPbAia9WrS78qne9ojEuC6awa6akpZyqq-WaaalU7qD1zf-v1cq5H/s499/rudraprayag.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="322" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1lbAHnFElG6Zo7CV6otoRotBbpPm_4Z_KObCZ_DGNW3Ie7S72YU0sCxYQYIqNqVoVbDOkXwnH140-ZMe9rpcPYoKCPbAia9WrS78qne9ojEuC6awa6akpZyqq-WaaalU7qD1zf-v1cq5H/s320/rudraprayag.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Therese Raquin, by Emile Zola<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Emile Zola's 'Therese Raquin' is one of those novels that reminds you that not all literature written in the 19th century was, well, like what you imagine it to be.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Over it's relatively-short length (under 250 pages), Zola writes a psychological study of crime, sexuality and passion.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Madame Raquin is a widowed shop-owner who has spoiled her sickly son, Camille, and married him off to her orphan niece, Therese.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Their married life is marked by a general lack of passion and extreme repression on the part of Therese, while the mollycoddled Camille lives a blissfully oblivious life. The appearance of Camille's old schoolmate, Laurent, inflames passions in Therese and Laurent is only too pleased to reciprocate, and they embark upon an affair that leads to disastrous consequences.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Through the course of the novel, Zola examines, under a harsh light, the impact of repression, guilt, and psychological deterioration. And yet, a lot of the work seems to be written in a hurry, with the characters being essentially placeholders for their passions, doing what the plot requires them to do in order to prove Zola's theories about his subject matter.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The descriptions are superb, and in the translation I read, (Penguin, 1965) the literary style is bold and unabashedly natural, touching on female sexuality in a manner that must have been unusual even for the French, back in the 1860's when the novel was published.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The ending feels rushed, almost as though the author, having completed the dissertation, and made the points he needed to make about his subjects - the urban middle class of France, adultery, crime, guilt and passion - decided to wrap things up so as to get it to the publishers in time to start his next novel (the rather more celebrated series, Les-Rougon Macquart).<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXelLtqnW0Tn-BPDheA7q01RSk_SuZ-af8oSHS4YsxQ_MvPLA_rBhw-lhLkjtwBG5WTb7icrQsvzC8jNC6CUJn_BMSPXF8rPLsIAdD0qIZG5GJvKQhClZYNOqvaT1AnGPWEQXmTKQNlM3/s475/raquin_9981.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="288" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXelLtqnW0Tn-BPDheA7q01RSk_SuZ-af8oSHS4YsxQ_MvPLA_rBhw-lhLkjtwBG5WTb7icrQsvzC8jNC6CUJn_BMSPXF8rPLsIAdD0qIZG5GJvKQhClZYNOqvaT1AnGPWEQXmTKQNlM3/s320/raquin_9981.gif" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Red Birds, by Mohammed Hanif<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">What would have been a clever, perhaps even well-appreciated book had it been written by someone else, ends up being a disappointment because it comes from someone of Hanif’s calibre and track record. It is not that the writer of <i>Our Lady of Alice Bhatti</i> and <i>The Case of Exploding Mangoes</i> has not written a good book; Red Birds has some fine passages and touches upon the very pertinent question of America’s culpability in perpetuating terrorism and insurgency throughout the world. But the lyricism, the sensitivity, and sheer beauty of prose and thought that Hanif demonstrated in his earlier works is missing from <i>Red Birds</i>, leaving it feeling like a work of anger that ends up lacking impact.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Red Birds is the story of an American pilot who crash-lands on the Af-Pak border, an entrepreneurial Pakistani kid growing up in a refugee camp, and the latter’s pet dog. The three narratives intertwine as the pilot waits to be rescued, the kid tries to rescue his brother, and the dog looks to do dog things. The mystery at the core of <i>Red Birds </i>is of a vanished US Air Force camp, and while there is a lot of writing about the clashing world-views of the refugees and the Americans, it simply does not have the impact that I know a writer like Hanif can give his work.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Maybe he was rushed by a publisher, or the manuscript ravaged by an editor, but in the end result, it ends up being a disappointment. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYKzk9c24Ye4NogWZaQHscknUEE2jGNKPsjK3QhKO4qs2LxUJRlHnZzGZhA2-LFDRMwpVzaTT4tmL5QMvjOBLK43OYFhhgroaLv-8wECTxssFb2bEwezeIKwqjC9GFeqacM6dlVH-F6SEb/s676/red+birds.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="676" data-original-width="420" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYKzk9c24Ye4NogWZaQHscknUEE2jGNKPsjK3QhKO4qs2LxUJRlHnZzGZhA2-LFDRMwpVzaTT4tmL5QMvjOBLK43OYFhhgroaLv-8wECTxssFb2bEwezeIKwqjC9GFeqacM6dlVH-F6SEb/s320/red+birds.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">La Reine Margot, by Alexandre Dumas</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">If Dumas lived today, he would have sold more books than Stephen King or James Patterson. Of this, I have no doubt. Sure, <i>The Count of Monte Cristo </i>and <i>The Three Musketeers </i>are considered part of literary canon, but they are also rollicking, entertaining tales written to please an audience. <i>Margot</i> is no different. An out-and-out potboiler of a historical fiction, it portrays the end days of the Valois dynasty in sensationalist, often sordid, tones. Every woman is a beauty, and every man a rogue, swordfights and poetry, poisoning and faith, are all jumping off every page, as the large and varied bunch of real historical figures, held by Dumas’ puppeteering hands, dance across the Louvre and other parts of Paris. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Keeping track of the characters can be a challenge (apparently, every noble in France at the time was named Henri) and Dumas doesn’t bother to make his characters likeable either, but they are definitely not boring. Never boring.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5pBMzINRT-DJ-EMn-qlEFAc7zXsyFvxX0tV7V8ht4g0RTe52QifNUEA1E8Ch3_EDez_66l53JgSoeJNUZJ65MRCWbo7c93W6tMIr7jkH-F56KqiwSqoBrEket-fnGuROSMEm9B9kKZry0/s325/margot.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="325" data-original-width="236" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5pBMzINRT-DJ-EMn-qlEFAc7zXsyFvxX0tV7V8ht4g0RTe52QifNUEA1E8Ch3_EDez_66l53JgSoeJNUZJ65MRCWbo7c93W6tMIr7jkH-F56KqiwSqoBrEket-fnGuROSMEm9B9kKZry0/s320/margot.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Ahsoka, by EK Johnston<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">(Star Wars nerdiness ahead; you have been warned)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">In creating the character of ‘Ahsoka Tano’, a padawan learner for Anakin Skywalker, Dave Filoni, the showrunner for <i>The Clone Wars</i> had to know he was taking a risk. The Star Wars fandom is famously toxic and puritan, and indeed the early response to the character bore this out. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Nevertheless, he persisted.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The fact that today, Ahsoka’s character is so popular as to have a toxic fandom that fights internet battles over whether she was accurately portrayed in her only live-action appearance so far, speaks volumes for what Filoni and the <i>Clone Wars</i> team accomplished over the course of seven seasons.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The novel is a tie-in of sorts, telling the story of how Tano survived Order 66, her first encounter with an Imperial Inquisitor (Spoiler Alert: She curb-stomps him), and how she realised she could not remain in hiding but needed to do something constructive to try and help the Rebellion against the Galactic Empire. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Told in a low-key style that really gets so much right about both the character and the ethos of the Star Wars world, <i>Ahsoka</i> is a nice addition to the Legend that is building around the Togruta who may have left the Jedi Order, but never compromised on its principles.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRyS8dulbMd9GTOIOL71InTkiUPQKGXjS7OAaHS0vh9mx2Bmz2es80922_v6eFULiOMP_GAMAgA8PkAGGrPB00ZZ27h3gHtvsrOZKMOSBguUGiKNTJ143xQHw0y8hdmIDmwUMilzU9599Q/s2048/Ahsoka_novel_cover.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1356" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRyS8dulbMd9GTOIOL71InTkiUPQKGXjS7OAaHS0vh9mx2Bmz2es80922_v6eFULiOMP_GAMAgA8PkAGGrPB00ZZ27h3gHtvsrOZKMOSBguUGiKNTJ143xQHw0y8hdmIDmwUMilzU9599Q/s320/Ahsoka_novel_cover.png" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The House of Mirth, by Edith Wharton<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">In 2019, I was left astounded by <i>The Age of Innocence</i>, it’s sheer beauty and almost hypnotic ability to sink the reader into the whirlpool of New York’s High Society around the end of the nineteenth century. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">In 2020, I was left heart-broken by how Wharton could, in the space of a few words, drag me back there, into a story even of even greater violence and desolation.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The House of Mirth is less about love; and mirth there is even less than in <i>Innocence</i>, but Lily Bart’s story is impossible to put down. I read it in under three days (an achievement for me in these degenerate times), and though it was nearly a month ago, have not really gotten ‘over’ it, if one really ever does get ‘over’ a book like this.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The story of the beautiful but poor socialite who is never asked to, or expected to, be anything but an ornament, and how that fault in her and those around her dooms her, of how a character’s strength can work against them, is heart-rending, and every page exposes a facet of human nature that is as guilt-inducing now as it was a hundred years ago.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Of all the books I read this year, <i>The House of Mirth</i> is perhaps the one I am most likely to keep in mind for the longest, though it is also the hardest to recommend, for it is not for the faint of heart.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhfJzCD5w79jH1Ud2dReRx7jq1DWa2nSQcDOFsLpUQ-GmNt3G5T3xh5m_QyLtR1qpRqUu2CIWwVreMa3Pe8h8mXpOmFKUeKPJnUbvn6hUWqwDFtkejZAt7K8YQrAnboX6SVjGXcFmWg8PA/s1818/the-house-of-mirth-with-18-illustrations-and-a-free-audio-link.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1818" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhfJzCD5w79jH1Ud2dReRx7jq1DWa2nSQcDOFsLpUQ-GmNt3G5T3xh5m_QyLtR1qpRqUu2CIWwVreMa3Pe8h8mXpOmFKUeKPJnUbvn6hUWqwDFtkejZAt7K8YQrAnboX6SVjGXcFmWg8PA/s320/the-house-of-mirth-with-18-illustrations-and-a-free-audio-link.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-26848048932107319092021-01-22T18:26:00.004+05:302021-01-22T18:26:55.806+05:30Book Review: The Plague, by Albert Camus<p style="text-align: center;"> <b style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The Plague, by Albert Camus</span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: justify;"></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxEUp0uU2Ow0aDWwuq8A7AQfmbRECQljQulIEbx7dTP-cdfCDhhgNFYA11jbJZ8dFSMZ-ffPjMawLEjY_XTVMD2lkU2jRpkNHbBNsbE7kUyPWuFng3IeR6SGbkxQ7EwhyphenhyphenRpQBbfLzuBGaA/s1569/the-plague-10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1569" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxEUp0uU2Ow0aDWwuq8A7AQfmbRECQljQulIEbx7dTP-cdfCDhhgNFYA11jbJZ8dFSMZ-ffPjMawLEjY_XTVMD2lkU2jRpkNHbBNsbE7kUyPWuFng3IeR6SGbkxQ7EwhyphenhyphenRpQBbfLzuBGaA/s320/the-plague-10.jpg" /></a></b></div><span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; text-align: justify;"> </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">In an unremarkable, mid-sized coastal town in colonial Algeria, rats start dying in the streets. Dr Bernard Rieux, a conscientious General Physician, is concerned, and when the first human casualties take place, tells the town's municipal authorities that they are likely in the early stages of the plague. His diagnoses is treated as alarmist, the name, 'plague' is suppressed and official notifications remain mild, advising only 'caution' and not taking more concrete steps.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Within weeks, the town is gripped by an epidemic and has to be shut down, the doctors are overworked, supplies are low, the authorities are flailing, makeshift isolation centers have to be made, and people are dying faster than they can be buried.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The town, named 'Oran', remains isolated from the rest of the world. Families and lovers are separated, the town guard assumes the status of keepers of the peace, quarantines and isolations mean that even when a loved one dies, they are buried, and later cremated, alone.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">There is heroism too, in the efforts of Rieux and his fellow-doctors, in the army of volunteers that helps, from the acerbic Priest, Father Paneloux, to the journalist Rambert whose first instinct is to smuggle himself out. The Plague comes for young and old, rich and poor, and as months pass, Oran is under a pall of gloom that isn't sorrow so much as hopelessness. The newspapers print a daily death count, which is observed with morbid interest. The theatres show the same pictures shows over and over, and the people watch anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">And the people lose their sense of self, and find that even waiting seems pointless, and hope is gone, and there seems nothing to live for. They burn their own dwellings and defy the lockdown, they run to the gates to get shot rather than endure the confinement. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The writer brings out all this through the eyes of characters at the forefront of the battle against the plague, but without a hint of sentimentality. Rieux and his friend Tarrou, love-lorn Rambert and ageing bureaucrat Grand, firebrand preacher Paneloux and profiteer Cottard. Each has his part to play in the travails of Oran, and they do play it as humans do; some heroically, some cowardly, some forced into it and some standing up to be counted when it matters the most.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The language (as translated) reflects the subject material, alternating between bursts of dialogue and emotional depth and passages of torpor, as though his words too should be in consonance with the course the Plague takes and the emotions of the people of Oran under their 'imprisonment'.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">And finally, if that all sounds familiar, that's because it is; and Albert Camus, who wrote 'The Plague' in 1947, was writing about more than an infectious disease. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">'The Plague' is a chronicle not so much of a sickness but about humanity, about dignity and about the innate value of hope, however dormant, however deeply-buried. It is about invisible enemies of all kind, whether Gods or monsters, real or imaginary. It's about the Nazis, and the dictators, about police oppression and the power of the wealthy, about inequality and cowardice, about bravery and faith.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">It's about the importance of ploughing on, in whatever little way we can, even when the cause seems hopeless.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">And Camus, who knew only too well that evil had not ended with the defeat of the Nazis any more than disease had died out with the end of the last pandemic, gives us a chilling warning through the last lines of the book:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">"He knew what these jubilant crowds did not know but could have learned from books: that the plague bacillus never dies or disappears for good; that it can lie dormant for years and years in furniture and linen-chests; that it bides its time in bedrooms, cellars, trunks and book-shelves; and perhaps the day would come when, for the bane and the enlightening of men, it roused up its rats again and sent them forth to die in a happy city."<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2yH8d1m3T6YT8vA0xql3yBrFF9kZjaMjnSrd4AcLhUlCEfVGhmUwpMEh0w2YL-gBH7kPnH4-pnVYbjPpd9RjJdpUG6w0FwsIFz2RryQjm4vOSFxW7b1ClsSEqEb_10BWXtwIMvUC3FQBO/s499/410EfCGarDL._SX331_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2yH8d1m3T6YT8vA0xql3yBrFF9kZjaMjnSrd4AcLhUlCEfVGhmUwpMEh0w2YL-gBH7kPnH4-pnVYbjPpd9RjJdpUG6w0FwsIFz2RryQjm4vOSFxW7b1ClsSEqEb_10BWXtwIMvUC3FQBO/s320/410EfCGarDL._SX331_BO1%252C204%252C203%252C200_.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p>Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-14916553688389915262020-09-27T13:32:00.005+05:302021-09-28T12:06:15.972+05:30Star Wars Fanfic - Meiloorun Cocktails<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;">MEILOORUN COCKTAILS</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYglGuT1mItzkX_nu-f8QzepA9-cqCzuMw0CAT7kKGJFECauJenNJ_uKlqKtgf2eR2PdsWJ_9fVSscQnCoyCJV1_nHepyXD5f81XVVZ7N-TKdRPMHO_ynVOj5NUPQHcUqBTxXFPPeV57OV/s1278/Star_Wars_Art_Concept_Illustration_02_Matt_Rockefeller_Cantina.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="1278" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYglGuT1mItzkX_nu-f8QzepA9-cqCzuMw0CAT7kKGJFECauJenNJ_uKlqKtgf2eR2PdsWJ_9fVSscQnCoyCJV1_nHepyXD5f81XVVZ7N-TKdRPMHO_ynVOj5NUPQHcUqBTxXFPPeV57OV/w400-h200/Star_Wars_Art_Concept_Illustration_02_Matt_Rockefeller_Cantina.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(c) <a href="http://conceptartworld.com/artists/levente-peterffy/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Levente Peterffy</a></td></tr></tbody></table><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I look upon the wretched hive of scum and villainy that is the cantina on Jondari. Fifteen years into the glorious rule of the Empire, and there are still places like this strewn all over the Galaxy; existing right under the nose of the authorities, where illegal deals and criminal activities are carried out; where those scum, the Rebels, flourish.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I know the time will come when all the Galaxy will bow to Emperor Palpatine, from the aristocrats in their palaces to the minor miscreants in run-down places like this. But for now, the Emperor has other priorities, and so these places are allowed to exist.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Why are we here, Agent Taus?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">He’s a good lad, is Captain Argon. Top of his class at the Imperial Academy. Has become my right-hand man in many ways. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“To smoke out a Rebel cell, Argon,” I say, checking my blaster. It’s fully-charged. It was when I left the ship, of course, but it never hurts to check again. In the Empire, we are nothing if not thorough. Argon does the same.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“What information do we have? You didn’t brief me at the base as you usually do.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Indeed, Argon, because this information is for your ears only. You know what our primary task is, don’t you?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“To locate, investigate and eliminate all Rebel activity.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“That’s right. And we have done that pretty well so far, haven’t we?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“We have, Agent Taus.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Well, a Rebel cell exists on Jondari. We know this because there have been several attacks on our fuel shipments over the course of the last few rotations, and plotting out where they occurred on a map leads us to believe Jondari must be the locus of these attacks, ergo…”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“The Rebels have a base here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“That’s right. And our people have been searching for it, but with no success. Until earlier today, I intercepted a scrambled transmission sent from here. From this specific cantina—” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“If it was a scrambled transmission, how did you gather anything from it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I take back my words about Argon. He asks too many questions. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“It doesn’t matter what it said, you idiot, why would anyone send a scrambled transmission if they weren’t Rebels?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“There could be any number of reasons why a transmission would be scrambled,” he says. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“By the Emperor, Argon! What are you, a bleedin’ Jedi? Always looking for another explanation that doesn’t incriminate people?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“What’s a Jedi, Agent Taus?” he asks, reminding me he’s from an Outer Rim planet that probably never heard of those cultists.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“It was a religious order of warrior monks sort of thing,” I tell him. “They had a Temple up on Coruscant and fought with light-sabers and what not. Advocated peace and brotherhood…up until they tried to kill the Emperor. This was before he was the Emperor, but you get my drift. We got rid of them all, we did.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“What’s a light-saber?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Oh pfft…what does it sound like? There was a handle, see? And when you pressed a switch on it, a laser-blade would come from the handle, like a sword-blade. I remember they would be green or blue in colour, and could cut through anything, even metal. Very dangerous, they were. Very very dangerous. Took a lot of good soldiers to kill them all. Haven’t seen one these last fifteen years though, thank the Emperor! Good riddance.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Did you ever see a Jedi yourself, Agent Taus?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Matter of fact, yes. I was assigned as a Senate Guard back during the Clone Wars. Saw my share of those nasty traitors. Shaak-Ti, Depa Billaba, Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Isn’t Obi-Wan Kenobi on the list of the Empire’s most wanted criminals?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Indeed he is, number one on the list.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Who’s number two?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Fact is, I don’t remember, the Most Wanted list is well above my pay grade. I have not seen it in years. That’s the purview of the Emperor’s Special Enforcer, that creepy half-machine, Darth Vader. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">So to change the subject I stride past him, into the cantina, and fire my blaster at the ceiling. This results in a section of the roof falling on my head and sending me sprawling to the ground. I am thankful for my helmet, I guess I’d have gotten a much nastier hit without it. Argon helps me get back up, as every patron in the cantina stares at us.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“You’re supposed to set it to minimum damage mode before shooting at ceilings, Agent Taus. It says in Standard Operating Procedure Manual Rule number…”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Shut up, Argon,” I grumble. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">These provincials like Argon can really get on the nerves sometimes. I look around the cantina. The bartender is a Rodian. One of the waitresses is a Palliduvan, another a Trandoshan. The band is Bith, and there are two dancers, one a Palliduvian (who finds that attractive, I cannot imagine—creepy as anything with that pale white skin and slit eyes) and another—well, this is a surprise—a rather attractive Togruta. The dancers one gets to see on these boondock planets are usually the rejects of better places—girls too old or too unattractive to pass muster there. But this one is a beauty; red skin, white markings, tall white <i>lekkus</i> with bright blue stripes. She reminds me of someone I’ve seen somewhere, I don’t quite remember now, but…but it doesn’t matter. After all, they are all typical alien scum. The Republic encouraged equal rights for all races and laws to keep those protections in place. Absolute bantha-shit! Humans are superior, and the Empire has ensured these riff-raff know their place. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“This is Imperial Agent Taus,” I announce. “Everyone stay in your places. Who is in charge here?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The Rodian steps forward from behind the bar and starts speaking his gibberish. The problem with these middle-of-nowhere planets like Jondari is that species like Rodians, who are perfectly capable of forming human words, are able to get away with never learning a proper language.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Anyone who speaks Imperial Basic?” I say. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“We can send for a interpreter droid,” says Argon. “We can—”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Can I help you with anything, Agent Taus?” The Togruta dancer steps down from her stage. She’s dressed in a clinging blue blouse, matching skirt, and has a clear voice with a perfect Coruscanti inflection. Impressive, for a cantina dancer.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“I’m Captain Argon,” says Argon. “We are here to—”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Shut up, Argon,” I say. “We don’t want to talk to an alien whore like you, we need to talk to someone with responsibility! Can someone translate the Rodian’s speech? The Palliduvian?” I don’t like Palliduvians much; but they look more human than these animals like Togruta and Trandoshans and the like.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“I am the Manager of this establishment, Agent Taus,” she says, pulling on a grey robe that she had draped over a stand by the wall. “Aldo here works for me. Now what was it you wanted?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I hide my surprise that an alien woman, and a Torgruta at that, could be a Manager of any establishment, though I suppose a tiny cantina like this is not very particular. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“What is your name?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Padme,” she replies. “Padme…Offee.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Well, Padme Offee, a transmission was sent from here four standard hours ago,” I say. “A scrambled transmission. Oh, don’t worry, our best minds are working on decoding it, but we don’t need to know what it says to know it has to have been sent by a Rebel operative.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“A scrambled transmission, from here? Interesting…we do have two holo-communicators, but they are on an open frequency,” she says, pointing. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Someone must have brought in a scrambler,” says Argon. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“It’s possible,” says the Togruta female. “You can check the two there, all the comms sent out…we record every message. If someone brought a scrambler, it would encrypt the signal as it went out, but it would be intact on our recorder.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">We follow her to a room behind the bar, where she leads us to a desk and pulls up the holo-recordings in a few strokes of a touchpad. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Four hours ago, did you say?” she asks. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Yes,” I confirm.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">A series of recordings begin to play. They’re all harmless. Usual scum-talk. Men lying to their wives, children lying to their parents, businessmen lying to their partners. The Togruta leaves the room, telling us to make ourselves at home. This is actually a good thing. Shows she feels she has nothing to hide. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“There’s nothing here, Agent Taus,” says Argon. We’ve been in there an hour, each of us going over one set of recordings.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“I suppose the team that monitors transmission back at base made a mistake,” I say. It could happen. Maybe it was not a scrambled signal at all, or they were the ones who scrambled it or something.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">We step out of the office, back into the cantina. It looks strangely empty. In fact, as I look around, I realise that there are almost no patrons sitting there. But the entry of Imperial Officers like myself and Argon can have this impact. The sort of vermin that inhabits such places tends to fear us, and for good reason too. But I have no inclination to look into that now. It’s been a long day with no output.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Did you find what you were looking for, Agent Taus?” asks the Togruta, looking at me with wide eyes. It’s odd how, in this grey robe, she looks so different from the alluring temptress who had been up on the stage. She seems very young now, though you never know how old these alien species are for sure. I’ve heard of some that live for centuries. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Uh no, that is…there must have been some mistake,” I say.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“But, Agent Taus,” says Argon, pulling at my sleeve.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says. “But of course I would have been mortified to know my cantina was being used for any sort of anti-Imperial activity. We are all loyal subjects here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Agent Taus,” repeats Argon.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“You should know that you’re welcome here, at any time, Agent Taus,” she goes on. “It would be our honour and privilege to have you here as our guest. Would you like some Jamba Juice? Meiloorun Cocktails?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Why, that’s very…very kind of you,” I say, lost; quite lost in her shining blue eyes. “Uh…but maybe not right now, that is, it’s a long way back, and I—we—have to report our findings…”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Agent Taus,” says Argon, almost shouting now. “There was a communicator in the office! It was on the desk! We did not check the logs.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“What?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“The office. The Manager’s office that we were just in. It had a private communicator. The suspicious message could have been sent from there. We should check its logs too!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The Togruta female turns to the bar and picks up an elegant, narrow wine-glass in which the Rodian has poured some drink. She brings it to her lips, and I notice how elegant her fingers are, as though used to holding such finery. Truly odd to find someone like her in a place like this.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Why, Agent Taus,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “I assure you, no one but me has used that communicator. You don’t need to check those logs.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“No one but you has used that communicator. I don’t need to check those logs,” I say, agreeing.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“No, look ‘ere, Agent Taus…she—she’s not telling us everything,” says Argon, and draws his blaster. He IS a fool.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“If you really want to check the logs, you can go back in there,” she says, placing her hands upon her hips, arching her waist ever-so-slightly to the right, suddenly bringing back the seductive dancer in front of my eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“No, here. Bring them out here,” says Argon. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“I will not,” she says, sounding quite indignant now. “You can’t just come in here and bully us because you’re Imperials! I run an honest business here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Look, Argon, put that blaster down,” I say.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“That office is a death trap, Agent Taus,” he says, finger on the trigger. “If we go in in there, there’s only one way out, we would be sitting ducks!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Are you going to…blast me if I don’t comply?” she asks, incredulity flashing in her eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“I’ve set this blaster to the lowest setting,” says Argon. “Won’t kill you, Miss Offee, but will incapacitate you for a while, and pain like blazes after. If you don’t bring those recordings out even then, I’ll let you have it at full power.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“You cannot be serious—” she says, looking at me in appeal.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Argon shoots.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">His aim is dead straight at her chest.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">She sways out of the way, like a dancer’s pirouette. The blast hits the wall behind. A few bottles explode.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Her hands are still on her hips. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">No one can move that fast. To avoid a blaster shot at this range, you’d have to be a combat droid. But who braves a blaster-bolt to protect a mere holo-recording?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I draw my blaster as well.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Citizen,” I say. “We need to see those recordings, now. Bring the recording here and we will take it back to our base with us—and you will come along too.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Are you sure you want that, Agent?” she asks. “I assure you, it’s quite unnecessary.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Where <i>have </i>I seen her before? Why does she look so familiar?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Padme Offee, you are under arrest for <b>withholding</b> information from an Imperial Officer. You can come with us now, or face the consequences of resisting arrest.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“You should put those blasters down,” she says.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I fire. So does Argon.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Somehow, we both miss. Or rather, we don’t, because once again the shots end up behind her, exactly where the earlier one was, this time smashing nearly half the wall. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Full-power blasters.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Not a scratch on the target. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Not a combat droid, no, clearly not. But those reflexes, those…I remember my training officer’s words when we were being taught to use blasters.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Most cadets focus on learning to shoot rapidly, but if you want to be promoted, to be more than an ordinary grunt, learn to fire with accuracy. A blaster bolt is quick, Taus. Shoot it at the right spot and you’ll get your target every time. Well, unless it’s a combat droid, they move fast. That, or a Jedi.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">And as I see two rays of pure white light appear from the handles in each hand, one shorter, one longer, one held in a reverse grip and one in a regular grip, I realise that those holo-recordings were not the only thing she withheld. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Seal the door, Aldo,” I hear her say. The Rodian sidles toward the control panel. Her voice is no longer that of a seductive cantina dancer or a business Manager. It’s the voice of someone used to giving orders. A warrior. A commander…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">In a flash, I remember where I’ve seen her. In the Senate buildings, back in the day…and also, and also…in the list…I recall it now, yes, I recall who is second on the Empire’s Most Wanted List. Her name. Her name is…Soka? No, it’s…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Yes, Commander Tano,” he replies, as the doors seal shut. I am about to tap the button activating my distress beacon, but I know there’s no point, I’d just be sentencing to death anyone who comes to our relief.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWzot-ZrTIAZZre-feOxX-ns0EfEOFwW7dZdpdG7iW4jYT4FcTcLcuRb2k0yNhr6P1gyjslCaSEYW8m3Ys39FlVZeJBeZ7pIQO1AvFrAn1f0aDp5A50dc0Ju0QsMTJhkjJg3_UJxhl60et/s960/d8kkbun-2ebb9d30-ed67-43ae-bce1-9738dc6b0aaf.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="742" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWzot-ZrTIAZZre-feOxX-ns0EfEOFwW7dZdpdG7iW4jYT4FcTcLcuRb2k0yNhr6P1gyjslCaSEYW8m3Ys39FlVZeJBeZ7pIQO1AvFrAn1f0aDp5A50dc0Ju0QsMTJhkjJg3_UJxhl60et/w309-h400/d8kkbun-2ebb9d30-ed67-43ae-bce1-9738dc6b0aaf.jpg" width="309" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(c) <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/charlestanart" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Charlestanart</a></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Me and Argon? We are about to die. We know it, even as we open blaster fire. We know it, even as she deflects the bolts effortlessly, almost lazily.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">We are in a room with Ahsoka Tano, former Commander of the 501<sup>st</sup> Legion, apprentice to Anakin Skywalker, one of the last surviving Jedi.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">We are about to die.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">She raises her right hand, the one with the long lightsaber in it, turning off the blade. Argon goes sprawling backward into the wall, where his head collides with the concrete with such force that his helmet cracks and he falls to the floor in a heap. I wonder if he is alive in there.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I keep firing, though I know its little more than a distraction.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">She walks up to me, as though taking a walk in the Palace Gardens. The shoto—the lightsaber in her off-hand—flashes, and my blaster is cut in half and falls to the floor. It must have taken incredible precision to cut only the blaster in half and not take off a part of my hand with it. But then, she’s Ahsoka Tano. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“I could kill you, but the Empire would find out there was a Jedi here, and a Rebel cell, anyway, wouldn’t they?” she says, conversationally, switching on the second lightsaber, and holding both, crossed over each other, such that my head is between the blade. One <i>swish</i> and I will be decapitated.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“I…I have sent for reinforcements already,” I lie. “They will be here any moment.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Have you?” she says. “Aldo, get out from the back way. Take only what’s important. Girls, you know where to go. Tell everyone to take off and make for Chopper Base.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“You won’t get out in time. We are monitoring all ships leaving the system,” I say. “You can’t leave the planet.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“No you aren’t,” she shoots back. “We would know. The only real question, Agent Taus, is whether you’re going to leave this cantina.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Am I?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“That, Agent Taus, is up to you,” she switches off the sabers, and with a gesture, pulls up a chair for herself. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I stare as she sits, and crosses one leg over the other. The minutes tick on the holo-clock. She’s waiting for the Rebels to leave the planet before she…what? Why am I even alive, still? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“You haven’t sent a distress signal,” she states. It is not a question, so I don’t reply, I just nod. “Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“You’d have killed them all.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“I’d have had to,” she points out.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“You haven’t killed us yet,” I say.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Will I have to?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Her communicator springs to life. A Twi’lek female’s face appears. Her, I know. She’s exactly in the sort of Most Wanted list that <i>is </i>in my pay grade. Hera Syndulla, Phoenix Squadron.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Ready for extraction, Commander Tano,” she says. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">She gets up. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Have you identified me, Agent Taus?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Yes,” I say.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Has your friend there identified me?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Possibly.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">She gets up. The lightsabers are still in her hand, but they remain switched off. She begins walking to the office.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“So, what happened here, Agent Taus?” she asks.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I take a deep breath. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Why, Manager Padme Offee, Agent Argon and I stepped in to look into a suspected Rebel transmission, but found nothing. However, a fight broke out and led to a lot of damage. The losses led to the business folding up, and the Manager and staff, unable to make good the losses, have given up and are untraceable. We will find, I’m sure, when we unscramble the message, that it WAS a Rebel message, but by that time we will have no one to trace it back to. Could be any of the patrons who used to come here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“And will Captain Argon say the same?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I lift up my blaster. It’s broken, of course. I get up and walk over to Argon. He is not moving, but he IS groaning. I pick up his blaster, that had fallen from his hand when he slammed into the wall. My hand trembles. To my credit, it trembles. I fire.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Very unfortunate, but Captain Argon was killed by a stray blaster-shot.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">She opens the door of the office. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Pleasure doing business with you, Agent Taus,” she says. “I’d ask you to come back to the Jondari Cantina for that Meiloorun cocktail, but as you can see, we’re shutting down.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">X---X---X<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiLJCUiZDnza4GIQbkk2ucxVYq0XNPfx5R7dv-GQ_Awjaohewxe2ai29kLJQqgjeRa1bS10nIzfx_fjYc0cgZNT5Yr8EiUW63WkK6RfgdhlJE3gk212DCnjCbAtY1zJ8c9mckeE_E4JVy4/s1583/db3hoi9-ac8cb47c-7656-45d3-a0bf-6c8a5e5788a2+%25281%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1490" data-original-width="1583" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiLJCUiZDnza4GIQbkk2ucxVYq0XNPfx5R7dv-GQ_Awjaohewxe2ai29kLJQqgjeRa1bS10nIzfx_fjYc0cgZNT5Yr8EiUW63WkK6RfgdhlJE3gk212DCnjCbAtY1zJ8c9mckeE_E4JVy4/s320/db3hoi9-ac8cb47c-7656-45d3-a0bf-6c8a5e5788a2+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> <i>(A small request to any of y'all who've made it this far. If you liked this fic, do go over to the fic over at <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26731819" target="_blank">Archive of our own</a> and leave a Kudos or a comment!)</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p>Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-62696730370670206662020-09-27T00:28:00.003+05:302020-09-27T00:28:16.031+05:30Daily Drabble #5 - Knife<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">KNIFE</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8yKdn4XQfRFwcpdfNYUFHmJVv69nIB5NpqBoQjATLpxCdXpmFz17DI2JkONl6GO9CueFUD83Op9VM5DwS5hnLCvEyfJhNvp9BikhwuMFrljFYuf8UaaScUqJ5pCyrKHW1zKNmZ623Gl4Z/s938/119731117_1261877940825146_6313220724568876708_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="938" data-original-width="626" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8yKdn4XQfRFwcpdfNYUFHmJVv69nIB5NpqBoQjATLpxCdXpmFz17DI2JkONl6GO9CueFUD83Op9VM5DwS5hnLCvEyfJhNvp9BikhwuMFrljFYuf8UaaScUqJ5pCyrKHW1zKNmZ623Gl4Z/s320/119731117_1261877940825146_6313220724568876708_n.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“It’s not that unusual to…get bored in a marriage after this many years,” she says, though the tremor in her voice belies a certain amount of uncertainty.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“No, I suppose not,” I reply.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“It’s not that I don’t have feelings for him at all,” she says, repeating herself from maybe five minutes before.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Is that so?” I mutter. I’m not really interested in conversation, and certainly not about her husband.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“But that being said, it would certainly be convenient if he weren’t there.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“But he is,” I point out. “And you don’t seem interested in filing for divorce.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“I couldn’t, I couldn’t,” she says. “It’s not like this is…a normal relationship, you know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I know it isn’t. He’s a gangster-turned-politician. She’s the daughter of his political mentor. It’s all terribly complicated.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“There’s other ways to get rid of him, you know—the way his family usually takes care of such matters,” I joke. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Her lips twitch and curl upwards at the edges just a bit; it’s one of those hopeless smiles that I have become used to seeing from her more and more.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Need help cutting those tomatoes?” she asks, shaking her head, as though discarding the preceding conversation from her mind and from reality.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Wouldn’t mind,” I say, sliding the <b>knife</b> toward her.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“It’s sharp,” she notes, as even, perfectly-circular slices fall upon the cutting-board, oozing juice. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“German make, very expensive,” I reply. “You remember our Prof back at College always said you can’t go wrong with German knives.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“I do, I do,” she agrees, smiling broadly this time—as though the memory of our time as friends, before I even knew she was a politician’s daughter, and before she knew I was born on the wrong side of the bed, has taken her back in time to a happier place. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Sandwiches are not the best meal a pair of Catering College graduates should make for a meal, but they are what we end up making, convenience trumping the desire to show off our skills. Paired with white wine, though, they do well enough. I fall asleep before she leaves, and wake up, on the couch, at some ungodly hour. I bring myself, somehow, to stagger to my bed, but not before I check the knife-stand. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">It’s dark, I’m groggy, but I see it. It’s there, in its due place. She hasn’t taken it with her. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I heave a sigh of relief. And regret.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-61075094271359095812020-07-13T13:23:00.001+05:302020-07-13T18:25:41.185+05:30FILM REVIEW: GRAND HOTEL<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfVrmaVkvf-gPEQlZ1NmoKlhYmBKdfgvXixdvJ0MZtaZ8PLQceCzNV46-W4G6_1UWquwexxk8Xk5pGbhKJgmbTugzrRxY2jkirnGTtQ7pYAsbbCqo5gvcozAdVSRZ93nBUAxrLyKkf9kdg/s934/Grand-Hotel-poster.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="934" data-original-width="580" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfVrmaVkvf-gPEQlZ1NmoKlhYmBKdfgvXixdvJ0MZtaZ8PLQceCzNV46-W4G6_1UWquwexxk8Xk5pGbhKJgmbTugzrRxY2jkirnGTtQ7pYAsbbCqo5gvcozAdVSRZ93nBUAxrLyKkf9kdg/s320/Grand-Hotel-poster.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">GRAND HOTEL<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Grand Hotel…always the same. People come, people go. Nothing ever happens.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Dr. Otternschlag, a disfigured World War 1 veteran says these, the opening lines of 1932’s <i>Grand Hotel</i>, and it is already evident he will soon be proved wrong. After all, no one’s going to make a film about nothing happening, and certainly not on the scale that MGM made <i>Grand Hotel.</i> For, in a time when studios zealously guarded their star power, only serving them out in moderate, digestible spoon-fuls of one or at best two from their A-list in a single film, MGM served up no less than <b>five </b>of their, and cinema history’s, most dazzling stars. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The Barrymore brothers, John and Lionel. Wallace Beery. Greta Garbo. Joan Crawford. Each one could, and did, carry films on their own, and yet the studio found this story, adapted from a novel and already running as a musical on Broadway, worth investing their resources into, on this scale.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi60tZQFFJlA4aY4wfvKbrRrhXTtRRvDrnYW24bAlFnPF804XHSk_Rp27uUQxRl1jTLrrYeV10KBS7uLLl9WF9JNCU47pMUsvdFmfPWDYivzOJSl0XAdW7P4lG9m6vQDjPUsvXDbO6iydGf/s997/-7382524802610095254.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="997" data-original-width="794" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi60tZQFFJlA4aY4wfvKbrRrhXTtRRvDrnYW24bAlFnPF804XHSk_Rp27uUQxRl1jTLrrYeV10KBS7uLLl9WF9JNCU47pMUsvdFmfPWDYivzOJSl0XAdW7P4lG9m6vQDjPUsvXDbO6iydGf/w399-h500/-7382524802610095254.jpg" width="399" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font size="2">The star cast<br />(L-R) Lewis Stone, Lionel Barrymore, Wallace Beery, Joan Crawford, <br />Greta Garbo, John Barrymore, Jean Hersholt</font></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That alone would make this film a significant piece of film history. Add to that its Best Picture win at the Oscars and the fact that it is this film that contains the line that pretty much became Garbo’s motto—<i>I vant to be alone—</i>and you have enough reasons to see the film for that historical value alone. Certainly, when I decided to watch it, I was not hoping for much more than an interesting historical artifact.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I was wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The opening scene shows three of our protagonists using the payphones in the hotel lobby to speak to someone on the other end, and establishes their characters in a few deft lines of dialogue, a device that is now so standard in films that we don’t even realise it’s being used. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The </span><b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Baron (</span></b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">played by </span><b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">John Barrymore)</span></b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> is genteel, refined, and deeply in debt.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Otto Kringlein (</span></b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">played by</span><b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> Lionel Barrymore) </span></b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">is an accountant who has learned of his terminal illness and plans to spend his last days enjoying the grandeur of the hotel.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Preysing</span></b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> (played by </span><b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Wallace Beery</span></b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">) is a pompous capitalist with an inflated pride and sense of moral superiority, who nonetheless is actually heading a failing company (and incidentally, Kringlein works at that same factory). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">A little later, we encounter the women—<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Grusinskaya </span></b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">(played by </span><b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Greta Garbo</span></b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">), a Russian dancer who seems to have fled / been exiled for her Tsarist sympathies from the Soviet Union. She is caught in a vicious circle—dwindling audiences for her shows have left her depressed, her depression leads to her heart not being in her dancing, with her heart not in it, her performances are not well-received, and the audiences dwindle. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">and </span><b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Flaemmchen</span></b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> (played by </span><b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Joan Crawford</span></b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">), a freelance stenographer with no money, an early example of the sexy-secretary archetype, no doubt, who is not unwilling to use her considerable charms to make some, though she is also starved for affection and friendship.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha6M5Tuc7VklC2wRBSSyTosQi3nsdL9g5WM0FhL1G4qebbX2mm0uaDzZpQHiTYYjgo4zcXVwaFwAFVexjafTdqIoPrPpEPJ7YL7q8LovyZSkuOZW8jJ1XVFcyqneToUdXpKWCekt1LtSvS/s768/32grandbeery13.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="768" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha6M5Tuc7VklC2wRBSSyTosQi3nsdL9g5WM0FhL1G4qebbX2mm0uaDzZpQHiTYYjgo4zcXVwaFwAFVexjafTdqIoPrPpEPJ7YL7q8LovyZSkuOZW8jJ1XVFcyqneToUdXpKWCekt1LtSvS/w400-h300/32grandbeery13.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font size="2">Joan Crawford and Wallace Beery</font></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The ensemble characters follow their individual arcs, intersecting and cutting across each other in the opulent lobbies, rooms and corridors of the <i>Grand Hotel</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The Baron tries to balance his innate good nature with the crimes he needs to commit to survive; Kringlein finds friendship in unexpected places; Preysing’s hypocrisy leads his moral façade to unravel quickly; Grusinskaya plumbs the depths of depression as the people surrounding her exploit her for their own ends; and Flaemchhen finds that walking the tightrope between worldly ambition and personal decency is far too difficult to endure.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The scenes blend seamlessly into one another and the pace is quick—one does not, for a moment, feel too far removed from the main action—this is no shuffling period piece, it’s the <i>Grand Hotel</i>, and for a place where nothing ever happens, there sure is a lot going on. The film uses a large cast of extras beautifully, creating the impression of a bustling, living place rather than a bland set-piece, which the Hotel could so easily have been. There are lives and stories going on in the background, behind every closed door and every counter, in the tables and the revolving doors.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMIs15P6OYvlmSzBraCwN2YNwqHDn1ixRgsiHYoVWnjv9kpyy6jhyphenhyphen48_8oMhXsE94OJJGr0sMZcCG_PDoI2DFIdqs9LFDPkVBRLd0So2bnPX0rGy67L3ecGN5xOt02XfpbHD7VnDkb-t1G/s1800/grand_hotel_4_crawford.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1318" data-original-width="1800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMIs15P6OYvlmSzBraCwN2YNwqHDn1ixRgsiHYoVWnjv9kpyy6jhyphenhyphen48_8oMhXsE94OJJGr0sMZcCG_PDoI2DFIdqs9LFDPkVBRLd0So2bnPX0rGy67L3ecGN5xOt02XfpbHD7VnDkb-t1G/s320/grand_hotel_4_crawford.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font size="2">Lionel Barrymore and Joan Crawford</font></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The camerawork is exquisite, the black-and-white often more bright and alive than many a celebrated 70’s-80’s work. And MGM’s stars deliver, each doing what they need to ensure they are not lost in the ensemble.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Beery is superb in his Harvey Weinstein-esque turn, menacing and despicable in equal measure. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Lionel Barrymore is the heart of the story, a ‘loser’ who effortlessly draws forth our empathy for the dignity with which he faces his fate, something that it takes considerable acting skill to pull off.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">John Barrymore is regal, the perfect fallen aristocrat, charming and dignified, threading the needle in the conflict between his innate nobility and his circumstantial villainy.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHw2rz5mmsluylahoq0sApuaRopyoj7674_Ud3shXWiod98D_Be2hHf8ydvbVt97UW8pygsu_YLw5mwOlxdhjTrAEuw9BCMnCppTpejd4rHGEvphTqHQZjLUQFmddjgHymrCBxDJowQ-f2/s1600/John-Barrymore-Greta-Garbo-Grand-Hotel.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1217" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHw2rz5mmsluylahoq0sApuaRopyoj7674_Ud3shXWiod98D_Be2hHf8ydvbVt97UW8pygsu_YLw5mwOlxdhjTrAEuw9BCMnCppTpejd4rHGEvphTqHQZjLUQFmddjgHymrCBxDJowQ-f2/s320/John-Barrymore-Greta-Garbo-Grand-Hotel.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font size="2">John Barrymore and Greta Garbo</font></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Garbo plays the dancer with exaggerated mannerisms and dialogue delivery—whether a result of her days in silent films leading her to be overdramatic in general, or as a deliberate nod to how the Tsarist Russians actually were, I could not say. Her power to enchant is undeniable however, and when she says <i>that </i>line, that accented delivery of “I just want to be alone,” there is a moment when we see the anguish in her eyes which, knowing what we know now about her later shutting out of Hollywood and reclusiveness, makes it especially poignant. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">And yet, Joan Crawford outshines the divine Garbo (and how many people could claim to have ever done that?) as she smoulders with sex appeal and uses her expressive eyes to great effect. Bette Davis, in one of her classic put-downs, is said to have said of Joan Crawford that she had slept with every male co-star at MGM. Well, that may not be true, but if any of her male co-stars at MGM did not <i>want </i>to sleep with her, they probably weren’t straight. To audiences who saw her on the big screen back then—gentlemen, you may be long-dead, but you had a glimpse of a goddess in a way that we never will, and we will forever envy you for it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNmUCp61EmlOwzJk6EGNY9oCW3nMniRReGCnuwSorPunPSV1yAXKQv8qQ05QE03k3dDoFVAIq9z4OUjVv5q6A4DI5gadfEyXDoY5UKcjxF25cY4JfpT2OT-kBJN8wM5Qz9XPgidRCTMiN1/s700/GrandHotel4.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="514" data-original-width="700" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNmUCp61EmlOwzJk6EGNY9oCW3nMniRReGCnuwSorPunPSV1yAXKQv8qQ05QE03k3dDoFVAIq9z4OUjVv5q6A4DI5gadfEyXDoY5UKcjxF25cY4JfpT2OT-kBJN8wM5Qz9XPgidRCTMiN1/s320/GrandHotel4.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font size="2">Joan Crawford and John Barrymore</font></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Grand Hotel</span></i><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> draws to its conclusion in under two hours, though the time seems to have flashed past us much faster than that. And as old guests check out, and new ones check in, the old doctor repeats himself.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><i><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Grand Hotel…always the same. People come, people go. Nothing ever happens.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">And this time, we wonder whether it is really a comedic line at all. For <i>Grand Hotel</i> is a story that could be made </span><b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">today</span></b><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> and you would have to change very little, nothing but the cosmetic details. The issues and themes it touches upon—this, this <i>relic</i> of a film from <i>ninety</i> years ago—they don’t feel aged at all. Grand Hotel is always the same because <i>we</i> are the same, and the world is, and even these intense stories, these great dramatic moments that are so important in that moment, mean very little, really, to others. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">For people come and people go, but the fundamentals of human nature remain the same, and <i>Grand Hotel</i>, well, <i>Grand Hotel </i>was never a film about a hotel in 1932, was it? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">It was about life.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><i><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">What do you do in the Grand Hotel? Eat. Sleep. Loaf around. Flirt a little. Dance a little. A hundred doors leading to one hall, and no one knows anything about the person next to them. And when you leave, someone occupies your room, lies in your bed, and that's the end.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-frRhPFiTJEuDNV6NxCd9SGyX13IGH65oDScNj2YX5dLB1lpWm60TJWHmFFZoocf_jZ-H0nxfur6BJNrL_NZt7Ihh5pRQ10NPHGownK_i6-YI_u2r9B8Ti2y-WvF-4TVoWgQoBqYuddeC/s762/grandhotel.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="545" data-original-width="762" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-frRhPFiTJEuDNV6NxCd9SGyX13IGH65oDScNj2YX5dLB1lpWm60TJWHmFFZoocf_jZ-H0nxfur6BJNrL_NZt7Ihh5pRQ10NPHGownK_i6-YI_u2r9B8Ti2y-WvF-4TVoWgQoBqYuddeC/w400-h286/grandhotel.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"><span lang="" style="font-family: "calisto mt", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> </span></p>Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-81111393911014532042020-03-31T11:33:00.000+05:302020-03-31T11:33:31.549+05:30Emma, and Emma., or, The Inevitable Pitfalls of Modernity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">EMMA, AND EMMA.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">THE INEVITABLE PITFALLS OF MODERNITY<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">(This review assumes a working-level of familiarity with the plot on the part of the reader. There are no spoilers, but some parts might be difficult to appreciate to those that haven’t at least read the Wikipedia page or my review of the book.)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I love Jane Austen’s <i>Emma</i>. I read the book for the first time a very long time ago, and that, and every subsequent re-read, of which there have been more than one, have brought a good deal of joy. The book is witty, exquisitely comic and at the same time very human and touching. Austen lights a very affectionate light on the foibles of the landed gentry, while offering enough insight into their faults, and peppers it with her trademark genius of dialogue and social commentary. It is also different—perhaps unique—from the rest of her output in that the protagonist is not a plucky, impecunious woman in search of a wealthy husband, but an independently wealthy, self-assured young woman who is more interested in arranging a match for her impecunious friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">But my views on the book have been elaborated in my </span><span lang="EN-GB"><a href="https://percytheslacker.blogspot.com/2015/08/book-review-emma-by-jane-austen.html" style="color: #954f72;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">review</span></a></span><span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> of it. This is not about that so much as it is about the film adaptation of it. Despite, or perhaps because of, my love for the book, I had not seen any of the film or series adaptations of <i>Emma</i> other than <i>Clueless </i>(1994; starring Alicia Silverstone and directed by Amy Heckerling), which I did not know at the time was based on the book. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Now <i>Clueless</i> is a masterpiece of its genre, beautifully merging Austen’s 1815 wit into 1995 California and the high-school social scene, and it does a fantastic job of capturing the social differentiation of the book, without losing the essence of its humour. Yet, as a ‘modern-day retelling’, it gets a lot of leeway on what elements it takes and which ones it ignores; the beauty is in the attempt itself, and execution must be judged more against the contemporary teen dramas it was released alongside than the 1800’s novel it was inspired by.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga6rat80BT_2TtOQRRZnEFQRFTTvFQ9dhEJZVtBxuueNnYRMdoJA4x71X5RM3VpoGl0_YdPsxXt5ZES9E5MxzDI9l3itzS1QjSp2HlP-l5Q1WoyCNRBJ8GhkopmUK-VUuV42k0p7SACE7a/s1600/MV5BOGRiODEzM2QtOTUyYi00MWRlLTg4MzMtZGI0YmUzNWUyMjQ0XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMDA4NzMyOA%2540%2540._V1_QL50_SY1000_SX675_AL_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="675" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga6rat80BT_2TtOQRRZnEFQRFTTvFQ9dhEJZVtBxuueNnYRMdoJA4x71X5RM3VpoGl0_YdPsxXt5ZES9E5MxzDI9l3itzS1QjSp2HlP-l5Q1WoyCNRBJ8GhkopmUK-VUuV42k0p7SACE7a/s320/MV5BOGRiODEzM2QtOTUyYi00MWRlLTg4MzMtZGI0YmUzNWUyMjQ0XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMDA4NzMyOA%2540%2540._V1_QL50_SY1000_SX675_AL_.jpg" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Poster - Emma. (2020)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That luxury is not available to the two major film adaptations that are more directly drawn from the book. One is the 1996 film, starring <b>Gwyneth Paltrow</b> in the title role and directed by <b>Douglas McGrath</b>. The other was released in February of this year, staring <b>Anya Taylor-Joy</b>, and is directed by <b>Autumn De Wilde</b>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The 2020 version is absolutely gorgeous in its visuals. The photography, the scene composition, the sets and costumes, are all stunning. However, the director’s vision, and <b>Eleanor Catton</b>’s screenplay, seem determined to explore only the comic aspects of Austen’s work, at the expense of everything else. Every actor plays their character like a one-note trombone; and that note seems to be the most ridiculous one that could be found. Unfortunately, this makes virtually everyone some sort of clown, and as the audience, we are left wondering why any of these people would even find anything to love about each other, let alone getting us to like them. It becomes, in the end, a funny but un-engaging film, losing any depth the text might have had by virtue of never attempting to do more than dip its toes into it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Moreover, in a film like this, the anchor needs to be the titular role, and this is a mantle that Anya Taylor-Joy is unable, or not allowed to, fully embrace. It is true that Emma, as Austen wrote her, was not made to pander to audience expectations; she is spoilt and vain, but she is also intelligent and kind-hearted. Emma’s faults stem from simply having had her own way for too long under an indulgent father and considerable wealth, but she is also a capable, if lazy, artist and musician, genuinely affectionate toward those she sees as less fortunate, and has managed her father’s estate since she was twelve. But in the drive to emphasise only the most obvious aspects of each character, such subtleties are lost; what we get through Ms Taylor-Joy, and through the film, is <i>Emma </i>seen strictly through modern eyes; bright to the point of harshness, grand in scale so it can show the protagonists to be small, stacked with unsubtle clues about how woke the film-makers are, and how patriarchal the structure was at the time the film is set in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Which brings us to the 1996 adaptation. It was an era of considerable interest in Austen’s works—both television and film were brimming with adaptations—there was a <i>Sense and Sensibility</i> film starring Emma Thompson and a pre-Titanic Kate Winslet that came out around the same time, the <i>Pride and Prejudice </i>TV series had introduced Colin Firth to the world, an <i>Emma </i> TV series in the UK, and if one extends our comparison to period dramas in general, there were so many more—<i>The Age of Innocence, The Last of the Mohicans, Braveheart </i>and <i>Little Women</i> (yes, Emma isn’t the only film of that era to get a 25-year-later-reload). This would go some way toward explaining why it does not stand out particularly in one’s memory—there are only so many wigs and petticoats an audience will stand to remember.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">But McGrath’s adaptation is actually remarkably faithful to the book, sequencing and portraying far more accurately than its 2020 counterpart. Far from shining a harsh, almost dismissively judgemental light on the characters, as De Wilde does, McGrath’s version takes a gentler approach, and uses soft-focus liberally to build a world of pastels and flowers. Not a scene appears to be out of place or even indulgent. But there is a sense of embellishment; Emma and Mr Knightley are both shown, perhaps, to be nicer than they are, and Mr Woodhouse’s faults, which Austen makes no bones about driving home, are papered over. This does bring a sense of blandness, sometimes, despite the earnest attempts of the cast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">None more earnest than Collette as Harriet</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That cast is, it must be said, impressive. There’s <b>Jeremy Northam</b> (<i>Gosford Park, The Tudors, The Crown) </i>and <b>Alan Cummings</b> (<i>The Good Wife</i>, <i>Spy Kids</i>) as the dignified Mr Knightley and the vain Mr Elton respectively. There’s <b>Toni Collette</b> <i>(The Sixth Sense, Muriel’s Wedding, Little Miss Sunshine, Knives Out) </i>as silly little Harriet Smith, the subject of Emma’s social experiments. There’s <b>Ewan McGregor</b>, though he’d like to pretend he wasn’t because damn, that wig is inexcusable. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">And then there’s Gwyneth Paltrow. For all her considerable faults in terms of being a vendor of pseudo-scientific claptrap, the undeniable fact remains that Ms Paltrow can be irresistibly charming when she wants to be, and she brings that charm to bear upon this film in full measure. Often appearing to channel Audrey Hepburn in her acting style (all right, aping Audrey Hepburn, but she comes close to pulling it off. I wouldn’t suggest anyone else try.), Ms Paltrow plays Emma as a shallow-but-intrinsically-loving daughter and friend, and there are times we see glimpses of true acting range. Emma’s emotions are an open book, beautifully conveyed on the canvas of Ms Paltrow’s face, and though at times her beauty threatens to overwhelm the story, that is not a fault one should place at her feet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">All said and done, it is much easier to recommend the 1996 version over the 2020 version, if for nothing else than for the fact that it represents Jane Austen’s text far more accurately; if you have read the book and want to refresh the story in your mind, or find you can’t read the book at all, that’s the version to go with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">But my honest suggestion would be to take the effort to read the text—and then watch <i>Clueless</i> for the sheer fun of it.</span></div>
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Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-82150112548079639782020-03-14T20:58:00.003+05:302020-03-15T09:34:21.013+05:30Film Review: Judy, over the rainbow<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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FILM REVIEW : JUDY</div>
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YOU CAN'T WRITE ABOUT THE RAINBOW AND LEAVE OUT FIVE OF ITS COLOURS!</div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">If <i>Judy</i> had been about a fictional film-star-singer, it might have been a good film. Vacuous at its core, maybe, and not particularly memorable, but a good film.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">It starts off in 1939, with a then-16-year-old Judy auditioning for <i>The Wizard of Oz. </i>Studio boss Louis Mayer points out, in excruciating detail, her limitations when it comes to attractiveness, and asks if she has it in her to overcome them to play one of literature’s most iconic roles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">It cuts forward to 1969, where a near-bankrupt Judy, debilitated by drink and drugs, presumably brought on by the inferiority complex engendered by the early studio years, is forced to accept a 5-week residency in London to perform a series of concerts if she wants any hope of making enough money to live on and keep her children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Most of the film is then shown in that 1969 era, as Judy struggles to deal with addiction and co-dependency, with a few flashbacks to the shooting of <i>The Wizard of Oz</i>. As such, it becomes a chronicle of rather pathetic failure, as the fading once-beloved film star runs down an abyss driven by bad decisions, drink and drugs. The flashbacks try to show her as being constantly put upon by the studio and seems to hold them—and at a personal level, Mayer—responsible for Judy’s present condition while at the same time implying that she peaked as the rosy-cheeked Dorothy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">A good enough film, of the “suffering-porn” variety. Take your three stars and be forgotten, fated to the Netflix recommendation queue for those who like ‘films with strong female leads’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">But that’s not what <i>Judy </i>is, is it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">It’s not about a fictional character. It’s about Judy. It’s about Judy-fuckin’-Garland.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Judy-fuckin’-Garland was born Frances Gumm in a family of vaudeville entertainers just as vaudeville was going out of fashion. She transitioned to film at 13 following a screen test, and was signed with MGM on a long-term contract. That was not remotely ordinary; thirteen is too old for a ‘child’ star, and too young for a regular actress. And yes, while she was certainly pretty, this was at a time when MGM’s other contract stars were <a href="https://www.forbes.com/sites/shivaunefield/2018/02/28/hedy-lamarr-the-incredible-mind-behind-secure-wi-fi-gps-bluetooth/#718690c641b7" target="_blank">Hedy Lamarr</a>, <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Lana-Turner" target="_blank">Lana Turner</a> and <a href="https://www.thewhyculture.com/people/greta-garbo/" target="_blank">Greta Garbo</a>—women whose beauty was of the spectacular, unforgettable kind. The kind that would outshine anyone not named Elizabeth Taylor or Ava Gardner (MGM’s next generation of signings).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">L-R, Hedy Lamar, Lana Turner, Greta Garbo, Ava Gardner, Elizabeth Taylor</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">But Judy Garland was signed anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Judy</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">, the film, touches upon one reason for it in its opening scene—Mayer points out she has a great voice. Well, that vastly undersells it. Judy Garland had once-in-a-generation vocals. In her teens, she could belt a full-throated melody with admirable control, and she did it in a voice that was <b>big</b><i>. </i>Listening to Judy Garland is to be mesmerized by possibilities; there seems to be a constant, imminent sense of danger about it; like sitting in a racing Ferrari. Even at 40 km/h, the car’s engine hums with the prospect of topping 250 km/h without breaking a sweat, and that’s what Garland’s voice is like—she doesn’t sing epic songs; songs become epic because she sings them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">What the film fails to mention is that she could dance, as she did, with Fred Astaire and, more often, Gene Kelley, and she could act the full range from frothy comedies to overpowering drama. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">And with all that, I’m sure, was a healthy dose of ambition. Because with all the 18-hour workdays and drugs that had become a part of studio life, we need to remember that this relatively-ordinary-looking girl, who worked in an era alongside the most beautiful women in the world, more than held her own. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">For that brings us to another misconception that <i>Judy </i>would foist upon us—that she was the girl from <i>The Wizard of Oz</i> and that pretty much defined her career. In reality, while that may be the film one most closely identifies with her <i>now</i>, after it has been shown to most of white America in their formative years, remember that this was far from the case back <i>then</i>. In fact, <i>The Wizard of Oz</i> <b>lost </b>money for MGM, only recouping it on re-release in 1949 and then, of course, going into super-profits when it became a TV staple (CBS paid MGM $225,000 for every time they broadcast it—<i>in the fifties</i>). Judy Garland made her reputation basis a string of hits as a young woman throughout the forties, parlaying her voice and dancing and acting to become one of Hollywood’s most reliable box-office draws. She had become difficult to work with—drugs and depression took their toll, and multiple suicide attempts preceded the last one—and that meant delayed productions and re-shoots, but she was still MGM’s biggest star. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">We don’t see much of that in <i>Judy. </i>We don’t see what made her an icon, we are just <i>told </i>it, through expository dialogue that often falls flat, and yes, that means the film manages, despite being a visual medium, to fall into the trap of telling, and not showing. In trying to put forth a story of a ‘fall from the heights’, <i>Judy </i>emphatically fails to capture just how dizzyingly high those heights were, and the grit and hard work and talent that took its protagonist there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That’s where Rene Zellweger’s singing voice doesn’t help either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Let me be fair—Zellweger does a brilliant job of replicating Garland’s expressions and mannerisms, not only is the resemblance strong, but the portrayal seems to be spot-on…until she sings. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">For some reason (okay, I kind of know the reason, but that’s a whole different discussion), Hollywood does not let its actresses get playbacks, and as a result, we have Rene Zellweger, a non-singer, provide the soundtrack for one of the top singing stars of the industry. Imagine a Lata Mangeshkar biopic, starring Kangana Ranaut, where she has to sing in her own voice. It’s not that Zellweger can’t hold a note; she <i>can</i> sing, but she doesn’t sound like someone who once had a voice that comfortably enthralled Carnegie Hall, that seemed to glow with warmth and bristle with pain, even before those things were really a part of her life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">But if nothing else, <i>Judy </i>will hopefully revive interest in the character it purports to portray, and if in doing so, it drives some of its viewers to check out <i>A Star is Born (1954), Ziegfield Girl, Meet Me in St. Louis, Easter Parade, Summer Stock</i> and so on, it will have accomplished a great deal of good. And I dare say they would get a much better idea of the character from seeing her perform.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">And yeah, if you haven't, go watch <i>The Wizard of Oz. </i>If you don't cry during 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' on your second viewing (because of course there will be a second viewing), you may be dead already.</span></div>
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Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-17220604442252393662020-03-03T19:05:00.000+05:302020-03-03T19:05:22.281+05:30Daily Drabble #4 - Experiment<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I’ve been the scribe in the Court of Justice of Aiden for fifty years. My eyes might be old, but I can see well enough to the end of the courtroom. My fingers ache not a little on cold winter nights, but I can write as quickly as I did when I was appointed. The Court sits atop the highest elevation in the city, looking down upon the expanse of dwellings and mercantile establishment that constitute Aiden. The Court is one of the reasons Aiden is the most popular trading center for all of Mithos; where it is known that justice will be delivered, business will flow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Not that I know much of the city any more, my quarters are up here in the Courthouse, and I have a boy to go to the city and fetch what I need to live. What I know is the law, and I have seen more cases in these hallowed chambers than anyone but the Lord Justicaar himself. Dominus Elgus, Lord Justicaar of Aiden for eight hundred years, one of the last remaining members of a dying species, known for its commitment to logic and reason. He has seen Grand Duchesses and Dukes come and go, and passed judgement on a few as well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">But the last four years have been terrible; as the new Grand Duke, Murdock, has subverted ancient traditions and imposed a reign of terror, religious and physical, upon the city. There has been little of justice, indeed, with few cases coming to his lordship at all. He has lamented in sparsely-filled chambers about how his power has been taken away, how his orders are ignored, and how all that once made Aiden great is falling to pieces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Today, as he comes in, and all those present in the Court rise, my old eyes scan the room in wonder. I have not seen the place so full in all my years here; not once, and certainly not since Murdock has reigned. The seats are full, there are people standing, and the doors cannot be closed for the sheer masses of people pressing upon them. The Bailiffs struggle to quiet them down, and even the normally-unflappable Captain of the Guard, Sir Valora Adno, who is here today, seems a little unnerved. She’s one of the few faces I recognize, not because she has a face that’s particularly memorable, but because she has been in this room so often over the years. I also recognize Wedgrass Selvar, with his stocky frame, powerful arms and memorably-ugly face, who has been here a few times defending himself against charges of unfair business practices, and Lady Mirielle Storna, who had come just a month ago when a distant cousin had contested her parents’ will. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The others are strangers. Not the students and government folk who usually sit here, waiting their turns or making records of the proceedings. It’s the people of Aiden, lords and ladies, merchants and sailors, the common-folk of the city.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The Crown’s Prosecutor motions for the Accused to be brought in. She does not set so much as a foot within the door before I can make some sense of why the Courthouse is so crowded today. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I am seventy-five years old—old, indeed, by Ateneen standards—and I have never considered myself susceptible to temptations of the flesh. I have not had much occasion to be tempted, not really. I have not known the company of a woman since I was in the Academy, and I have not missed it—or so I believed, until now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Something about her inflames every sense, overwhelming me. Her eyes are a bright blue, the blue of the ocean, her hair is lustrous gold, her face is a portrait of beauty that artists would die to portray and still fail. She wears a gown in black and white—black from shoulder to waist, and white below—that clings to her body like a second skin. Her neck, her ears, her arms, are all adorned in jewels, though none sparkles like those eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">She speaks her name when she is asked to, in a voice as clear and beautiful as the sound of the crystal-clear waters of the mountain spring that passed by the village where I grew up. It dispels any lingering doubts I might have had that the crowd is there to see her. It is an ancient name, a royal name, a name that adorns her like a crown, though she wears none—Galvina Chrysos.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The case itself pertains to public lewdness; she is an actress, and it has been alleged that her performance of the role of Gleda in the <i>The Pirate’s Daughter</i> was obscene. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">She defends herself with stunning eloquence and displays a knowledge of legal precedent that impresses even me, who have studied every case from the past hundred years. I expect her to take recourse in being Amarian and in the sanctity of Amarian scripture, which has very different standards for obscenity. In Grand Duke Murdock’s Aiden, this will fail, I believe, for he has declared Amarian scripture invalid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Instead, she puts forth the argument that Gleda needed to be nude in those scenes, she recites the lines from the play, not just her own, to show how Gleda’s nudity, far from being titillating, was meant to shame the audience into introspection, she challenges the notion of nudity itself as being obscene, and of obscenity itself as being a factor in the performance of any artistic medium.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The Lord Justicaar acquits her, agreeing with her second point, that the nudity was not intended to be of a prurient nature. If he had not, I believe the people in the Courthouse today would have lynched him, and me, and the Prosecutor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I wonder if I will ever see her again. I doubt I will, though my heart earnestly wishes it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">As I await the emptying of the chamber, Lady Storna and the merchant Selvar have wandered near my seat, and the Captain with them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“That will teach Murdock a lesson,” says the Captain. “He will know better than to try to take on Galvina now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Oh, this wasn’t Murdock,” says Selvar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“What? Wasn’t the accuser one of his pet ‘guardians of morality’?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“No, it was one of mine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Both the women gape at him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Look,” he says, his face grim. “This city is going to have a reckoning soon. Murdock is an evil brute. He would have moved against us eventually. Now, Gibbles—I mean, Galvina—has shown him that she can command a crowd by the sheer power of her presence, that she can fight his stupid battles by the power of her mind. Even without raising her staff, even without casting a single spell, she is more powerful than he.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“I suppose you have a point…,” says Lady Storna. “But why did you need to do this?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“It was an <b>experiment</b>,” he goes on. “I have just proved that this city might fear Murdock, but it <i>loves </i>Galvina Chrysos. And when the time is right, that is why she will wear the crown she deserves.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT", serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I clear my throat, and for the first time in four years, I smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVVe3arMWrEkLu7OHxNCoA8fMLnSjhyphenhypheny9hOnbRcaUWpR7w-DIr9V0IrxesHgwuJo9Mgni8unIm9V4_BW6we1ZrInv6R_vK8OJDc7MLtCsJfLcON-REAgrssFrc5VbVfdIvgIWPvrcFEyIs/s1600/Experiment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="1024" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVVe3arMWrEkLu7OHxNCoA8fMLnSjhyphenhypheny9hOnbRcaUWpR7w-DIr9V0IrxesHgwuJo9Mgni8unIm9V4_BW6we1ZrInv6R_vK8OJDc7MLtCsJfLcON-REAgrssFrc5VbVfdIvgIWPvrcFEyIs/s400/Experiment.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(c) TamasGaspar.deviantart.com</td></tr>
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Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-26936621771624560252020-02-28T19:24:00.000+05:302020-02-29T12:19:34.940+05:30Daily Drabble #3 - Global<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Ooh, you’re the person from Head Office?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Jayesh nods, too tired to even smile. The village has maybe three bank branches in total. It’s his misfortune, he thinks, that DCTMR is one of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Idris, GRG <i>ka banda aaya hai</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">A large, stressed-looking chap emerges from the cabin. Jayesh is somewhat impressed, despite himself, that there is an air-conditioned cabin in Jhakulgaon branch. The last three places he visited had fans that worked on generator power.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“<i>Namashkar, </i>Jayesh. Come, come. Tea? Coffee?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Water, please,” says Jayesh, finding that even the thought of a hot beverage seems to make his sweat glands go into overactive mode.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“<i>Chhotu,</i> GRG <i>wale saab ke liye paani lao</i>,” shouts Idris. He rubs his hands together, and gestures Jayesh to a chair. “So tell me, what is news from BKC? Head office is happy with us?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“Oh yes, very happy that’s why they sent me to, err…encourage you guys. See here—” he pulls a sheaf of papers from his case “—this is the new form for offline enrollment of potential NRIs for money transfer services…” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">His prepared monologue is cut off as <i>chhotu</i> brings a glass of water, thumb firmly within the rim, touching the liquid inside. Jayesh nearly retches, but remembers he is wearing a tie and a shirt he paid a hundred rupees to get laundered and ironed in Jamsande Town two days ago, and manages to control himself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The monologue continues. Idris receives a phone call approximately once every six-and-a-half minutes (they are long phone calls, giving Jayesh enough time to do the math). Some of them even seem to be related to work. About a hundred customers pass through the branch during the day. Not one is presently, planning to become, or related to, an NRI, and as such has no use for international money transfer services. Nevertheless, Idris promises that his branch will do amazing work in the field and register lots of new customers and can HO just up the incentive a little so his ‘guys in the field’ are adequately compensated for their efforts?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">At night, Jayesh is waiting at the railway station for the train to Dhabadepul. He smokes a contemplative cigarette. There is a signboard threatening a fine, but he’s learned that such signboards are pure lip-service. He thinks back to a quite different wait—what was it, three years ago?—in the air-conditioned waiting room outside Conference Room number 4 at his B-School in Calcutta on Day 1 of Placement Week. He thinks about the man from DCTMR, a blue-shirt-wearing, red-tie flaunting, slightly pot-bellied Deputy General Manager from GRG. How eloquent he had been! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">‘In GRG, we have plans. Big plans. Money flows all over the world, Jayesh. From the US to Mexico, to China, to Philippines, from the UK to mainland Europe, from mainland Europe to Africa, from Australia to South-East Asia, the river of money flows faster and stronger than the Ganges, and DCTMR wants to be there! We want to be the valve in every pipe that carries money. And you will be the washer in that valve! You will be everywhere! London, Paris, Milan, Moscow…uhh…Dubai, Sydney, Casablanca, Acapulco, Davos, New York, Tulsa…I mean, Houston, we have a branch in Houston too…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Jayesh is cynical enough now to chuckle at the memory as he taps the ash from the cigarette-end. He has been to about seventy dusty, smelly, unsanitary, hole-in-the-ground-toileted, no-hot-water-baths-available villages in the last three years, hocking the offline registration process for DCTMR money transfer. Most of them were not even as polite as Idris had been. Some have told him to his face that his product is terrible and their branch won’t waste resources on it. Others have said that their branch has no use for international money transfers when they can barely get a customer to open a savings account. Many have just smiled and nodded and forgotten about him the moment he left. The rest of that time he has spent vegetating behind a desk, surrounding by unused forms, at the Kalyan office in Mumbai. (He tells people he’s from the BKC office. It’s only a white lie; his department head does sit at DCTMR HQ there.) The closest he has come to leaving the country was when the departmental offsite went to Alibaug in a ferry and they came close to international waters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“I think we will hire you, Jayesh, though of course you should wait for the official intimation through your college,” he remembers the blue-shirted, red-tied, pot-bellied man saying. “Any questions?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“I will surely accept, sir. Just one question,” he had replied, with a broad smile. “What does GRG stand for?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">“<b>Global</b> Remittances Group, my boy. Global Remittances.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-75294361434472867272020-02-25T10:49:00.003+05:302020-02-27T12:00:22.467+05:30Daily Drabble #2 - Sail<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">‘What will you do when the pirates come?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">It was the question that shaped the lives of every citizen of Old Tark. Forty miles down the coast from Arbora, the town had long been the target of every passing pirate ship looking for easy pickings. Then, fourteen years ago, Red Jenny had descended upon Old Tark, her ship, the <i>Waterdancer </i>bearing down the harbor like a cloud of death. It was a tale every boy was told, and Jem had heard it too, a thousand times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">‘What will you do when the pirates come?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">It was the phrase drilled into every boy in Old Tark, since that day when the town had been pillaged down to the last grain of rice, the last bronze coin. Casker, the Village Headman, had ensured that no one in the town forgot that ever-present threat, that sword hanging over their heads. Jem had had it drilled into his mind too, for though he was the object of ridicule of everyone in the village, he was still expected to know the answer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">‘What will you do when the pirates come?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Fight. The answer was to fight. For fourteen years, Old Tark had fought. They had resisted. They trained in use of spear and bow, and they had look-outs watching day and night, and they gave the pirates a fight to remember, until they were not an easy target anymore, and the pirates no longer saw Old Tark as ‘easy pickings’. But not so poor Jem. He was thin and had a darker skin than all the strong, white boys in the village, and he had no mother. He did have a father, or had, but Kris had died when Jem was seven. A boy like Jem would always be an easy target.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">‘What will you do when the pirates come?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Run and hide. When the rest of us fight, Jem will be hiding with the women and children, because he isn’t no good for anything else. Jem’s father was a coward. When Red Jenny came, Kris was nowhere, he escaped on a boat. He came back a year later, with his coward whore-son Jem. No, Jem isn’t one of us. Jem is craven and tainted by birth. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">‘What will you do when the pirates come?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Did it matter to the people of Old Tark what Jem’s answer was? It did not matter that Jem was good with a bow, that he could hit a fish’s eye at forty paces. It did not matter that Jem was ready and willing to fight the pirates when they came. There had BEEN no real pirates for many years now, and Jem had not got to prove his worth. Not since his father had died. All they cared about was that his father had been a coward, and that no one knew who his mother was. Jem did not know his mother either, other than the name his father had told him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">‘What will you do when the pirates come?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">They did come. A black <b>sail</b> emerging over the horizon. It was the <i>Waterdancer </i>once more, back after fourteen years to terrorise Old Tark again. It was terrible and unnerving, a cloud of doom, parting the mists, with her standing on the prow; tall and proud; Red Jenny. Old Tark fought, and fought hard, but their spears bounced off the enchanted teak of the ship. Their arrows flew, but they hit few targets. They fought, but they fell, one by one, before her; Red Jenny. They submitted at last, as they had fourteen years ago, before the dark power of Red Jenny.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">‘What will you do when the pirates come?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Where was Jem in all this, though? Where was Jem the coward, the whore-son? Hiding, cowering, afraid? No, Jem was <i>waiting</i>. And when it was all over, and they all submitted, Jem walked forth, head held high, to sit in judgement on them who had tortured him for the colour of his skin and his father who was a coward and his mother who was a whore. For he remembered well, his father’s words, his answer to the question that had shaped his life, and the lives of the people of Old Tark. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">‘What will you do when Red Jenny comes?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">‘You will step forth, head held high, and say, “Greetings, mother. I knew you would come for me.”’<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(c) <a href="https://www.instagram.com/scversillee/?hl=en" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">SC Versillee</a></td></tr>
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Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-43633217550243042942020-02-25T10:41:00.001+05:302020-02-27T11:49:56.131+05:30Daily Drabble #1 - Ebullience<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>In an effort to keep myself writing, for that ought to be important to myself, if not anyone else, I've taken on the responsibility to do a daily short piece on a word prompt. </i></div>
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<i>This is the output from the first one, inspired by one of my favourite books; 'Little Women'. </i></div>
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<i>I would love to see more people join in. The word is in the blog's title, and you could share the post, or the link, in the comments. </i></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Last Christmas, Beth fell sick. She was the brightest of us; kind, gentle, joyful, always the first to rush forward to help a person in need, always the last to step away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I guess we took her for granted. It is the way of the world, isn’t it? To take, and take some more, from them that give? And so we let her be the ‘good’ one, so I could be headstrong, so Amy could be flighty, so Meg could be the belle. There was always Beth. To help Mama, to nurse Papa, to play gentle tunes for when we were sick, to play bright and cheery waltzes for when we were well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I never asked If she would have liked to dance. I never asked if she wanted to be the one who was ministered to. It never occurred to me to. Not until she fell sick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That was last Christmas, you see. And now, there’s that empty chair by the piano, and the music has gone from our lives. We cried rivers of tears, but they wouldn’t bring her back. We swore to be more like her, but we couldn’t, could we? She was who she was, and we are who we are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">But sometimes, when I come home to visit, I see the morning sun come through the window just the right way, falling onto that empty chair by the piano. I feel like chords are playing again, and my bright, beautiful sister is sitting there, radiating her warmth and <b>ebullience</b>, but it is a memory, and no more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">--<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(c) 1922 Edition, Jessie Wilcox Smith</td></tr>
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Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-72141592401653737152020-01-24T14:55:00.000+05:302020-01-24T14:59:13.185+05:30Film Review: What happened in 1917?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">What are the stories we choose to tell?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Every one of us grew up surrounded by stories. Some, we were told were stories. Others, we thought we knew to be the truth, until time revealed they, too, were stories of a kind. Still others were stories we told ourselves, one way or another. And sometimes these stories were embellished, and sometimes they were honest, and sometimes they were important to the world, and sometimes they were important to us, more than anyone else, but the ones we remember best are the ones that were <i>our </i>stories, and those were the once we wanted to tell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">In <i>1917</i>, Sam Mendes tells a story, but…it’s not quite the story we might have expected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">After all, the ‘War Film’ is not new; from <i>All Quiet on the Western Front </i>(1930), through <i>The Best Years of Our Lives </i>(1946) to <i>Patton </i>(1970)<i>, Coming Home </i>(1978)<i>, Apocalypse Now </i>(1979)<i>, Saving Private Ryan </i>(1998)<i>, </i>and last year’s <i>Dunkirk</i>, we have seen a number of films that dealt with war and its aftermath. Some of them follow a person, some an event, some take a more macro-level view of the ‘theatre’ of war, and the best ones have always shown up the futility of it, even in the midst of acts of great personal heroism. Hell, even <i>Wonder Woman</i>, that glorious, campy, charming World War I film, makes it a point to show Diana’s artless optimism wither away in the face of the realities she is facing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">But <i>1917</i>, in a sense, is not about that. Or not as much as you think it would be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The film begins and ends with a near-identical shot of a soldier relaxing against a tree. The story is what happens in-between, a saga that begins in a bunker in a trench and ends just outside a hospital-tent. It’s a heart-stopping, heart-rending, breath-taking, awe-inspiring saga of a mission to get a message across and through enemy lines to call off an attack, and through the use of a simulated single-shot, we are thrust into the story as though it were happening to us. We see the desperation of the men in the trenches, the rotting bodies and the pecking crows, the gnawing rats and the clouds of dust, the murky, blood-stained water, the senseless violence and gruesome deaths, the heavy, brutal reality checks, and the moments of tenderness that seem to redeem us as much as the characters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Through long stretches of silence punctuated by loud noise, pitch darkness and vibrant light, silhouettes and close-ups, frantic chases and a memorable, melancholy moment of rest, <i>1917 </i> tells a story that is utterly riveting; an experience that only Indian theatre-owners and their insistence on an ‘Intermission’ to sell overpriced popcorn can harm, though even so, not ruin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">George MacKay</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> and <b>Dean Charles Chapman</b> are the lead actors in this drama, tasked with delivering a message to a regiment deeper in German-held France that is on the verge of walking into a trap. One of the soldiers in that regiment is the elder brother of Chapman’s Lieutenant Blake, giving him the personal interest in the mission’s success that the higher-ups seem to think is essential. He and his friend, an initially-resentful Schofield (MacKay), set off, through the trenches on their front, full of weary, irritable soldiers, past the men holding the frontline, past No Man’s Land, into the German trench, and beyond. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Mendes paints scenes—or rather, given the whole film is simulated as one scene, let us call them moments—that stick in the viewer’s consciousness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">There is the moment we realise that the General did not even know that the Colonel he referred the men to, had been dead for two days; when a Lieutenant administers them their final rites as they prepare to climb out of their trench; when Schofield’s hand goes into a dead man’s gaping, open, chest wound. Many, many moments when all hope is lost, moments when we see in the background a futility to their efforts that does not render them any less noble, moments of incredible beauty, as a village is lit up with blazing lights that are almost festive in their deadly, destructive dazzle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">And the climax, the rousing, distressing, stand-up-in-your-seat eye-popping climax…followed by the inevitable low of the realisation of how temporary victories are in a war such as this, of knowing that the war would not end till another year had passed, only to be followed by another.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">1917</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> is all this, an achievement of technical brilliance, a thing of awesome beauty that leaves a lasting impression.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">But it is, still, a story. The sort of story; perhaps a specific one, that Sam Mendes’ grandfather may have told him. A story of hope, with a hero and his journey, an Odysseus-like voyage through terror and treachery. In an age where memories of that time fade; when we think of that horrible war as an afterthought, when those who fought in it are long gone, it is an important story to tell, for it speaks to hope, and bravery, without glossing over the trauma that war engenders.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">What it is not, is a commentary. As war films go, there have been better; as commentaries go, there have been better; but that—that is judging a fish on its ability to fly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">1917</span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> is a story a man chose to tell, and he told it marvellously well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">We should not ask for more than that.</span></div>
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Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-25633948414052254942020-01-22T10:29:00.000+05:302020-01-24T14:55:28.255+05:30Film Review: The Story of 'The Irishman'; or, I hear you like old stuff?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">THE STORY OF <i>THE IRISHMAN<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I HEAR YOU LIKE OLD STUFF?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">What are the stories we will remember? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">As I look at my bookshelf, or at the…ahem…accumulated movie collection, I wonder how many of these will still be ‘popular’, as generations pass. Already, it’s difficult to find anyone who knows about the authors who were literary and commercial giants just a century ago; and even ‘Film Buffs’ couldn’t tell you what ‘<a href="https://www.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/sight-sound-magazine/features/deep-focus/pre-code-hollywood" target="_blank">pre-Code</a>’ means, or pick out Theda Bara from a line-up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6SRNf99umHRrzhF5P1_MGxFq1ZE4d_XriQKJR9MmANf_oYpXq_GLc5IUNm1Y_uT6agQhm-Ujo3wvjYrim2NP_oLBrRRZaxTE0aN-Vw6CcN0qOU5u66L9Au92o2PEG5khKYRXXiByGbUUO/s1600/Theda+Bara+Cards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6SRNf99umHRrzhF5P1_MGxFq1ZE4d_XriQKJR9MmANf_oYpXq_GLc5IUNm1Y_uT6agQhm-Ujo3wvjYrim2NP_oLBrRRZaxTE0aN-Vw6CcN0qOU5u66L9Au92o2PEG5khKYRXXiByGbUUO/s320/Theda+Bara+Cards.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Theda Bara, in a still from <i>Carmen </i>(1915)</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">It is a question that is asked in stark, nihilistic terms by Martin Scorsese’s <i>The Irishman</i>. A deconstruction of his own oeuvre, a worthy piece of the mob-film genre, and a stunning period-piece, it manages to be all these things without losing touch with the need to tell a self-contained story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Which it does—in fact going story-within-a-story for a while, as Robert De Niro’s <b>Frank Sheeran</b>, the titular Irishman, recounts a story from his wheelchair in a nursing-home, of a car journey he and <b>Russell Bufalino</b>, played to perfection by Joe Pesci, undertake to attend a wedding. On the way, they stop for cigarettes near a Gas station where, as Frank recalls, he and Russell first met. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">What follows is a study of how Frank, a former-soldier-turned-union-member truck driver, got involved in the Italian mob, first as a fixer and then as a hit-man. Carrying out a variety of crimes, which he is to later dismiss as ‘eh, some other things’, but which in reality, run the gamut of violence including arson and murder, Frank rises until he is close to not just Russell, but also trusted by several other ‘bosses’ in the seedy, grimy, world of organized crime. This makes him an ideal candidate to ‘help out’ the maverick Union Boss, Jimmy Hoffa (Al Pacino with spiky hair and exuding charisma), when he needs to deal with a ‘problem’ in Chicago. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The film then traces the Bufalino-Hoffa association, as Frank becomes something of a go-between for them, to the point of both considering him a close family friend. Of course, Frank’s rise in the mob is not without consequences—a violent outburst against a local grocer leads to an estrangement from his daughter <b>Peggy</b> (portrayed, as an adult, by Anna Paquin) that only gets deeper and wider as time goes on. He himself, while maintaining a cold-blooded, almost amoral approach to his job, finds his loyalties and feelings tested as Hoffa and the mob increasingly find themselves at cross-purposes, culminating in the quiet, anti-climactic climax of the film. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">But it does not end there, and therein lies the true value of <i>The Irishman</i>—it does not let up. It does not provide a ‘big-bang’ exit. Frank and Russell grow old, and the glory days of their brutal reign over the country are not just lost, but increasingly forgotten. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Where once Frank was a part of Presidential plots (the film works in its references to real-life events of the Kennedy era), he now stands in line in a vain attempt to get his bank-teller daughter to talk to him, at least as a customer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Where once his feet stamped down on a man’s wrist for the slight of ‘pushing’ Peggy, he now needs crutches to get around. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Where once he was a feared sight on the streets, now when two Federal Agents try to get him to ‘talk’, they point out that, for all he has done, there is no one left for him to defend, no one to protect—he is all that remains of a time and culture that is no more, and his story has no value to anyone except the families of those he wronged. He doesn’t talk. Like </span><span lang="EN-GB"><a href="http://percytheslacker.blogspot.com/2019/09/book-review-age-of-innocence-by-edith.html" style="color: #954f72;"><span style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">another Scorsese character</span></a></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> in another film, he prefers to stick with a code that no longer exists.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">In its way, <i>The Irishman</i> also serves as a capstone to the universe of the ‘mob film’, of which <i>Goodfellas </i>and <i>Casino</i> are also such fine examples. One could even see them as a trilogy:—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Henry Hill</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> (Ray Liotta) in <i>Goodfellas </i>is a gangster who seems blissfully unaware that his actions are repugnant, revelling in the lifestyle his depravity allows him to live and bitter about it all coming to an end. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Sam Rothstein</span></b><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"> (Robert De Niro) in <i>Casino</i>, is a man duly aware of not just the danger, but the horrors of the world he is involved in, who tries to rationalize to himself that what he is doing is not, still, as ‘bad’ as what those around him (<b>Nicky Santoro</b>, played by Joe Pesci), are.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Frank Sheeran, in <i>The Irishman</i>, a man who’s perfectly aware of what he’s doing, how evil it is, but who doesn’t really think it’s very ‘important’ that he’s done the things he has; and by the end, realizing that no one cares about the people he did it for either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Scorsese once said that <i>The Age of Innocence</i>, with its refined dialogue and genteel manners, was the most violent film he ever made. I would say that <i>The Irishman</i>, with its unrestrained ruthlessness and savagery, is the most gentle. Almost meditative in its content and structure, the violence shown on screen is not destructive, but instructive; a reminder that a life spent in trying to become the ‘big man’ is no solace when it nears its inevitable end. It’s a lesson that other storytellers might seek to tell through heavy-handed allegory that involves monks and Ferraris; Scorsese chooses to tell it through an expletive-punctuated, blood-infused saga of a corrupt union leader, deconstructing the concept of the ‘great man’, tearing down the concept of the ‘hero’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">To talk about the technical aspects of the film seems superfluous, the camerawork, the soundtrack, the acting, the dialogue (from the rambling, Seinfeld-ian discussions on buying fish to Peggy’s seven-word armour-piercing question to Frank) come together as they must. Sure, the de-aging can look spotty at times, and it’s hard to think of De Niro’s ‘young’ Frank Sheeran as being any younger than forty-five at any point, but maybe that’s a part of what we came to see—the inevitable viewing of stories of the past through the lens of what we know about those stories now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">It is telling that no studio chose to pick up the film; that it had to find a home in a streaming service that made its reputation by being willing to cater to niche viewers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">In the end, Frank shows the nurse doing his check-up (Dascha Polanco, who should be instantly recognisable to fans of OITNB) old photos of his family. Seeing a photo of Peggy with Jimmy Hoffa, the man who once could bring America to a grinding halt with a word, she asks who he is. Frank’s answer has only a vague sort of meaning to her, a memory of something someone might have once said about a guy who disappeared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The Irishman </span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">is a film about stories that are being forgotten, memories that will fade as a generation dies out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I look at the yellowing pages of the books on my shelf, recall the time I had to explain to a young friend that Alexandre Dumas was a writer, and wonder whether there will be a time when those stories, too, will crumble like the nitrate film reels on which Theda Bara’s <i>Cleopatra</i> once lived to inflame so many passions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A still from <i>Cleopatra </i>(1917). <br />
Barring a 20-second clip, stills are all that remain.<br />
A critic said, the producers seemed to have stinted on nothing, <br />
except perhaps Ms Bara's costumes, which were shockingly sparse.</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">They probably will, but that’s no reason not to celebrate the stories while we do remember them; and if that means relaxing with Scorsese’s three-and-a-half-hour saga, with maybe a viewing of <i>Goodfellas </i>and <i>Casino</i> on the previous day to build the mood, well, may I live long enough to do exactly that!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Available on <a href="https://www.netflix.com/watch/80175798?source=35" target="_blank">Netflix</a></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "calisto mt" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-8702585528346278962019-11-29T18:21:00.001+05:302019-11-29T23:48:28.133+05:30THE GIRL WITH GOLDEN HAIR<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This little bit of November balladeering came about from a dream of Ingmar Bergman's work.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>THE GIRL WITH GOLDEN HAIR</i></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="__DdeLink__1324_1512755405"></a><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>The forest folk, they sing a song,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>As they watch the wild trees grow,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>They sing of a girl with golden hair,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Deep in the dungeons below.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Yes, far below ground is her abode,</i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Under the castle Kilahenny,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Thick are the walls surrounding her,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>And the men standing guard are many,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Deep is the moat a-encircling,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Filled with many a beast,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>And were she to venture an escape,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>They would make of her a feast.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>But no walls, nor </i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>men</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>, nor beasts,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><i>No </i></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>King’s</i></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><i> bravado and boasts,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Can quiet her voice, nor dull her feet,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>As she sings and dances with her Ghosts.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>She has hair of spun gold, they say,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>And a face like dawn’s awakening,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Like polished marble is her skin,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Her eyes are gre</i></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>e</i></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>n and gleaming.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>E’en in her straits so dire,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>No man can look upon her, and </i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>be</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Unchanged, unmarked, unscarred,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><i>By the vision </i></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><i>that</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><i> he has seen.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>And yet, they do, tis said,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Those men standing at the post,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>They look in upon her dungeon cell,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>As she sings and dances with her Ghosts.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
‘<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Tis said by those self-same Forest folk,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>That she once was but a mummer,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>With her father </i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>she </i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>sailed from port to port,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>He, </i></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>who was</i></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i> a poor excuse for a conjuror.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>He purveyed</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i> tricks with smoke and mirrors,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>But ‘</i></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>twas her</i></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i> beauty </i></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>that </i></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>was prized,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>And the boys </i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>who</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i> watched her </i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>d</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>espair’d</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Their wits, their senses hypnotised.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>For her favour they swore to fight, to die,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Each</i></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><i> swore </i></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>he</i></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><i> loved her the most,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>They called her the Girl with Golden Hair</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>She who now only sings and dances with Ghosts.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>She learned the mummer’s craft, all too well,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>She could smile and cry at a word,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><i>Her arts did make the small-folk gasp,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>For not one, </i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>from their </i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>places</i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i> </i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>could stir</i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>.</i></span></span></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><i>But when the curtain </i></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>had fallen</i></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><i>,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>When the applause had quietened</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>She sang to the Goddesses; she sang to the Tides,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>And they blessed her with skills unparalleled. </i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>The most powerful </i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>w</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>ie</i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>lder</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i> of magical arts,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Became she, in all the known lands of Mithos,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>A creature, </i></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>a sorceress,</i></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i> of awesome power,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>She</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i> who now </i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>but</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i> sings and dances with ghosts.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>She fought for justice, ‘tis said,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>She fought for pride that was lost</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>She strove to take what fate denied,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>And she was ready to pay the cost.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>And so, little by little, and day by day,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>The ghosts did rise up in her wake,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Many</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i> died who were evil and corrupt,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Many did she kill in her rage.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>She gave justice where it was deserved,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>She was more merciful, indeed, than most,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>But now she has naught, </i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Nothing to do, but sing and dance with ghosts.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>There came a man o’er the sea,</i></span></span></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Bringing with him an army to tear,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Apart her beloved city, but he knew not,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Of the Girl with the Golden Hair.</i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>For</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i> though of her he had heard, </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>He thought of her as little more,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Than a pretender with no claim other,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Than the ancient name she bore.</i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>His ships lie still, at the bottom of the bay,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Off the bright blue coast,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>His men, like him, are among those,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>She sings and dances with—her ghosts.</i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Many were those who after her did lust,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>But none could say he was her lover,</i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>For though she smiled and sang with them all,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>None could truly know her.</i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>For no man nor woman could she trust,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Not even those who loved her most,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>And now she has nothing and no one,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Naught to do but sing and dance with </i></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>her </i></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>ghosts.</i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Dark were her thoughts, and deep her secrets,</i></span></span></div>
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‘<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Tis written that she consorted with beasts,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Partaking in their unholy rituals,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Satiating herself</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i> with unholy feasts.</i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Until</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i> in an act of </i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>madness</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>She did defy the Goddess’ will,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>The ramifications of her choices,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Shape our world, still.</i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="justify" class="western" style="direction: ltr; font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Death and destruction were never far,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>Weighing and dragging upon her heart,,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>And then came</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i> a War </i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>where</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i> fate had decreed,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>She could take no part.</i></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>She watched them die, her friends, her lovers,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i>She watched warcraft </i></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>overcome</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><i> means unfair,</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>But though </i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>armies</i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i> fell and heroes died,</i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Powerless was the Girl with Golden Hair.</i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Until they broke her silence, </i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Until they took </i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>her</i></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i> who she loved the most,</i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Terrible was her vengeance then, for she was ready,</i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>She was ready to sing and dance with her ghosts.</i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>The ground trembled, the skies came apart,</i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Forests and mountains were ripped wide,</i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>And cities fell like breaking toys,</i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Before the fury that could not be denied.</i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>A civilisation died at her hands, that day,</i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>But the damage was innermost,</i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>In the loss, in the madness, of she who could have saved us,</i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>She who now only sings and dances with her ghosts. </i></span></span></span></span></div>
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</div>
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Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-13416211624245633502019-09-27T18:51:00.002+05:302020-03-10T13:17:47.553+05:30Book Review: The Age of Innocence, by Edith Wharton<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">THE AGE OF INNOCENCE</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">I could tell you what happens in Edith Wharton’s 1920 Pulitzer Prize-winning novel (the first one written by a woman to win, incidentally) in a single, long sentence—New York’s High Society steps out to the Opera, a wealthy </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">young lawyer</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"> announces his engagement at a ball, invitations to a dinner are declined, invitations to another are accepted, the lawyer advises his client regarding some family matters, High Society vacations in Florida, a wedding takes place, High Society vacations in Rhode Island, a young woman stands at the end of a pier, an old woman falls sick, a young woman throws a farewell party for her cousin, a wife becomes pregnant, and an old man walks away from a closed window. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">That would tell you</span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"> the events</span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"> </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">depicted in</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"> the 300-odd pages in the book, and may even pass for an adequate review if I added in a few lines about how I </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">inherited the book from my uncle’s library well over a decade ago, how it came back to my consciousness while watching an episode of </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Gossip Girl </i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">on Netflix, and </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">end by asking</span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"> whether you, dear reader, have read it as well.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">Except that, if I did leave it there, I would fail to point out that within the exquisite elegance of these rather mundane actions lies a story of devastating brutality.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>The Age of Innocence</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">, published in 1920, does not contain a hint of physical violence. Not so much as a slap. It is set among the elite of 1870’s New York, among a people ensconced in privilege, lineage and wealth, committed to appearance and manners, ruled by overt politeness and genteel behaviour. Through their polished words and grand homes, their eminently predictable habits and cold respectability, Edith Wharton shows how pain can be inflicted and hopes crushed just as effectively as through the most stark, gory prose that another author might write.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">We see the world through the eyes of </span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><b>Newland Archer</b></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">, a young blue-blooded New Yorker who has just gotten engaged to the lovely ingenue </span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><b>May Welland</b></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">, a member of the numerous and prestigious Mingott family. The arrival from Europe of May’s cousin, </span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><b>Countess</b></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><b>Ellen Olenska</b></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">, fleeing </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">her </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">abusive husband, upends the quiet order of High Society, for rather than hiding </span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">her </span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">under a proverbial rock, as such fallen women should be, the Mingotts, led by their formidable matriarch, </span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><b>Catherine Mingott,</b></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"> choose instead to parade Ellen at the favourite haunts of the city elite. Archer, who fancies himself a progressive man, questions why Ellen must be ostracised for leaving a husband who was clearly a brute, and announces his engagement to May publicly at a ball hosted by </span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><b>Julius</b></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"> and </span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><b>Regina Beaufort</b></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">, making sure his family is seen as firmly on the side of the Mingotts. Despite this, when </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">the Mingotts decide</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"> to host a formal dinner to re-introduce her grand-daughter to New York, the invitation is declined by every family it is sent to. In response, Archer enlists the ‘big guns’—his aristocratic elderly cousins, the </span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><b>Van Der Luydens</b></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">—who agree that such an insult should not be tolerated, and host a dinner where Ellen is personally invited. As a Van Der Luyden invitation cannot possibly be declined, the rehabilitation of May’s cousin into New York Society seems to be complete.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">However, Ellen Olenska proves to be rather square peg, unwilling to fit neatly into the Upper East Side of Manhattan and its round holes. Vivacious and charming, </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">far too</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"> interested in proletarian pursuits, far too disinterested in the shallowness of New York’s prestige-obsessed, anti-intellectual society, shaped by the intellectualism of European </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">courts and boudoirs</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">, she chafes in the shallow, stifling confines of what New York deems ‘proper’ even as she takes solace in its comforting politeness and predictability after the nightmare that was her marriage. As a woman living separated from her husband, she also occupies a precarious position—she cannot marry, but she is too interesting and beautiful to be left alone; and she becomes a target for the attentions of several men, among them the rich but somewhat disreputable Julius Beaufort. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">Archer finds himself drawn to Ellen; her apparent freedom from the conventions and hypocrisies that he is so familiar with, and so tired of; her appreciation for a world beyond the vapid and superficial one he lives in; as well as the mystery surrounding her past makes him question his feelings for May, who represents precisely the vacuous, hypocritical, </span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">convention-bound</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"> New York Society that he has begun to hate being a part of.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">As the novel progresses, we see Archer, Ellen and May each play out their parts, riding conflicts within themselves, their allegiance to society, to conscience and to their own feelings. Jealousy and passion, honour and deceit, play a role, but it is all buried under the veneer of gentle conversation and </span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">propriety</span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">, whitened out under a blaze of opulence, concealed beneath the ordinariness of the daily routine of the life of the wealthy.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">With a soft touch and deft hands, Edith Wharton sinks the knife into the reader’s hearts, spinning and twisting it as she spins and twists this poignant story of love and duty. The emotionally-draining climax, the moving epilogue, all speak to the human condition in ways that resonate across the ages from the time it is set in, to when it was written, to the present day, a century later.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>The Age of Innocence</i></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"> is a novel that operates at many levels, and not just because its characters almost never actually say what they mean. A love story it is, and a family drama as well, but it manages to go well beyond that. It shines a harsh light on the injustice perpetrated on men and even more, upon women, in the name of being ‘proper’ in upper-class society, upon the hypocrisy and vacillation of even ‘good’ men like Newland Archer, the indecision and cowardice of women like Ellen Olenska, the vapid cunning of women like May Welland, and the role of High Society women in institutionalising patriarchy upon themselves. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">But it also, somehow, simultaneously, induces a latent sympathy for that same crusty upper-class society, struggling to hold on to the world they had established over so many years even as it crumbled around them in the construction of high-rises and raced past them in trains and shouted over them in the </span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">raucous</span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"> dance of democracy. It makes us sympathise for poor Newland, struggling between the frightening solace of comfort without love and the frightening perils of love with disgrace; for Ellen who keeps reaching for a happiness that she always knew was </span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">not hers to achieve</span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">, or lacks the capacity to reach for the happiness she wants; and for May, innocence raised to a shallow saintliness and dragged into deviousness.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">Edith Wharton’s writing blends Victorian convention with a more modern, conversational style that makes it easy enough to read. That does not mean it is easy to grasp, however. A certain degree of familiarity with the times and conventions of the time it is set in would help, but the most important factor a reader needs to bring to it is a desire and ability to delve into the world created by the author, else one is in danger of coming away having read nothing more than a story about an Opera, a Ball, a Wedding, a couple of vacations and a couple of parties. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB">In his 1993 </span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB">film of the same title</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB">, Martin Scorsese adapts the novel more or less faithfully, and perhaps the definite proof that he knew exactly what he was doing lies in his assertion that it was </span></span></span><span style="color: navy;"><span lang="zxx"><u><a href="https://lwlies.com/articles/the-age-of-innocence-martin-scorsese-most-violent-film/" style="color: navy;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB">the most violent film he ever made</span></span></span></a></u></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB">. What I found fascinating was that he made it at all, though—Scorsese’s versatility is indisputable, but adapting a costume-period drama in 1993 would seem like an odd choice for someone whose previous films were </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Goodfellas </i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB">and </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Cape Fear</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB">, and whose next was </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Casino</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB">—except that it is not. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB">In it’s true essence, </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>The Age of Innocence</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB"> is a story with striking relevance, </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB">for you see, t</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB">here is a reason some stories stand the test of time, and it goes beyond narrative excellence or memorable characters; it has to do with the universality of themes. That’s why we continue to make and re-make films based on the classics, that’s why we continue to read and love them, generation to generation—because they do still speak to us. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">Have you felt suffocated by the pressures of conventional morality? Have you struggled to keep a smiling face while your heart broke inside? Have you found yourself devastated by the luxury of comfort, frightened by the unending changelessness of your predictable life? Have you walked away from something, convinced yourself that it was not what you wanted, though it was everything you ever did? If you have, you have lived through </span></span><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>The Age of Innocence.</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">Maybe you still are. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">Maybe you will again, one day.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">And maybe you will, one day, shudder at the ruthlessness of Catherine Mingott when she tells her niece, </span></span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>It was Beaufort when he covered you with jewels, and it's got to stay Beaufort now that he's covered you with shame.”</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">at the magisterial death sentence Sillerton Jackson pronounces when he says,</span></span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>I didn’t think the Mingotts would have tried it on.”</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">at the jealousy and hatred contained in Newland Archer’s,</span></span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Hallo, Beaufort, this way! Madame Olenska was expecting you,”</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB">at the unfathomable sense of helplessness expressed when he says, with a smile,</span></span></span></div>
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“<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>Tell her I am old-fashioned: that’s enough.”</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span lang="en-GB"><i>--</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB">Purchase </span></span></span><span style="color: navy;"><span lang="zxx"><u><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Age-Innocence-Edith-Wharton/dp/1514639211/" style="color: navy;"><span style="font-family: "baskerville" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><span lang="en-GB">here</span></span></span></a></u></span></span></div>
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Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-44823117839910292312019-03-23T13:08:00.002+05:302019-03-24T01:44:47.792+05:30Book Review: My Antonia, by Willa Cather<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Book Review: My Antonia, by Willa Cather<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I've never been to Nebraska. Couldn't point it out on a map if I had to. I don't feel too bad about that, because, you know...it's not like most Americans could either. It's a typical 'flyover' state, large rural expanses, minimal population (16th by Area, 37th by population) and not much to distinguish it from the rest of the mid-west. But to those who live there, and lived there, it must be home, and home is never insignificant. Home is always unique.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Willa Cather's</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><i>' My Antonia' </i>is a heartfelt ode not just to Nebraska and the prairies, but to the concept of 'home', of youth and first love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Through the narrator, <b>Jim Burden </b>and the <b>Antonia </b>(<b>Shimerda</b>) of the title, Cather constructs a story without a real plot but with a lot of story; a narrative of intersecting lives that never quite come together other than in brief, shining moments of tranquility, conflict, remorse and love. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Slowly tracing the life of the orphaned Jim through the heroes of his childhood, the harsh winters on a Prairie farm, the struggle between acquired 'class' and inherent desire for joy, offering glimpses of Antonia's struggle to settle down into an ‘American’ life, adjust to the realities of her life, the losses she faces with quiet, powerful dignity, Willa Cather paints a moving portrait of lives that were destined to grow apart but never lost their love for each other.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The supporting cast is memorable too, whether it's the old-world grace of <b>Mr, Shimerda </b>or his wife's loutishness, the villainous <b>Wick Cutter </b>or his toxic-dependent wife. She retains a special love for the 'farm girls', the 'hired hands', the ones who came from afar to make their lives in early-20th century America, and set down roots there. <b>Tiny Soderball</b>, the 'Bohemian Marys', Antonia and <b>Lena Lingaard </b>each show in their different ways, aspects of womanhood shaped by toil, cowed by circumstances, but never without hope and happiness. Antonia, of course, as the heroine stand out, but Lena too gets her moments under the sun, and both feel alive and real, portrayals of nuanced, complicated womanhood. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt;">Lena, indolent, seductive, slandered far and wide, drawing men under her spell without even trying, but virtuous as only a woman of principle can be; Antonia, animated, beautiful, adored by one and all, fated to disgrace and strong enough to rise above it. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I've known a Lena Lingaard, I've known an Antonia, drawn from landscapes far removed from the western prairies, but no less remarkable, no less strong. Willa Cather captures their natures, their beauty, their power as she does their caprices. Perhaps they represent the country and the changing seasons; harsh and lovely in turns, pliant and stubborn in turns, but never less than magnificent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The book ends on an open, uncertain note, the loss of innocence and childhood mitigated by the emergence of a new generation, just as spring's flowers supplant winter's bones. Yes, Jim can never go back again, for <i>Optima dies prima fugit</i>; in the lives of mortals, the best days are the first to flee, but at the end, Jim Burden's Antonia still stands tall. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">She is older, perhaps very little wiser, her beauty is a thing of the past, but her strength still resplendent. For she is more than a woman, just as the book is about more than what is written on the page. She is womanhood, and the earth, and nature, the loves and losses of childhood, and she remains, like My Antonia, 'battered, but not diminished'.</span></div>
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Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-84703789255509589552019-03-03T12:05:00.001+05:302019-03-03T12:05:47.914+05:30Book Review: Help the Witch, by Tom Cox<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Book Review: Help the Witch, by Tom Cox<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">When I joined Twitter a few years ago, my hellacious cat, Ser Pounce-a-lot ensured that I followed several luminaries of the feline twitter-verse. He assured me that about 40% of the non-pornographic traffic on the WWW is cat-related and as such, if I wanted to stay abreast of current trends, following prominent cat celebrities was absolutely essential. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">One of the most interesting cat celebrities turned out to be @MySadCat, a.k.a The Bear, a mournful black senior-citizen feline, whose philosophical, poetic Twitter feed was a source of much joy. Occasionally, The Bear would mention that he had under his wing a human, an author named Tom Cox, and he shared the said human with three other cats—Shipley, who swore a lot, Ralph, who was a rockstar-cat, and Roscoe, a businesswoman-cat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Following Cox’s Twitter feed and reading his work on his </span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><span style="color: #954f72; font-family: "Calisto MT";"><a href="http://tom-cox.com/" style="color: #954f72;">website</a> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">was a joy, for he was clearly a seriously talented writer, combining wit, humour and quirkiness with a taste for the slightly macabre that made his work unpredictable in outcome, but always enjoyable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Help the Witch</span></i><span style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">, Cox’s first short-story collection, came out in October 2018 and while I bought it almost immediately, it took me till a recent train journey to finally read it, and it turned out to be…well, different.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Help the Witch </span></i><span style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">begins in an epistolary format, with a narrator excerpting from his diary about moving into a new home in the north of England. Gradually, two neighbours are revealed, his landlord and a tenant farmer, and the narrator comments on the mysterious behaviour of his cats as well as the tendency of his wooden Owl figurine to end up in the trash. The village itself has a darker past than is at first apparent, and by the time the source of the strange happenings around the narrator are revealed, you settle in for what looks like being a very different sort of spooky novel…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">And then it becomes something else entirely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">For Tom Cox is clearly not writing <i>to </i>his audience, even if he is writing <i>for </i>one. <i>Help the Witch </i>is, nominally, a collection of short stories, but it is not quite that simple. All conventional ideas about how a collection should be compiled are thrown out of the window, and stories jump from horror to humour, from charming ghost stories to slice-of-life narratives, from first-person to omnipresent third-person viewpoints. Through all of it, the only constant is Cox’s amazing ability to pitch the language in just the right way to keep a reader interested in the moment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">That said, the sheer non-linear, unstructured nature of the stories and the book overall, is likely to be a turn-off for some readers. The horror elements are unconventional, and Cox’s humour relies on absurdity and clever turn of phrase rather than satire or situation. What holds the disparate tales together is their deep love for the environment from which they spring; a viewpoint that sees nature as neither a deified mother-figure or an unimportant part of the background, but as a living, breathing element in symbiotic co-existence with us. Sometimes, she is scary, and sometimes, she is stunningly beautiful, and that, really, is what Cox brings out best in his writing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Help the Witch </span></i><span style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">left me smiling, and even from a third of the way across the globe, the environs and people Cox wrote about came to life very vividly. All said and done, a quirky, meandering trek through a fascinating corner of the world that I would only recommend to those who don’t mind getting their brain slightly scrambled by the end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-41329937478455356842019-03-02T21:00:00.002+05:302019-03-02T22:02:04.495+05:30Book Review: Miss Laila, Armed and Dangerous, by Manu Joseph<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Book Review: Miss Laila, Armed and Dangerous<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Manu Joseph thinks you are trash.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">It does not matter if you’re male or female, young or old, rich or poor, upper caste or lower, or somewhere in the middle of each duality; he thinks you are trash.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">If it’s any comfort, he thinks he’s trash, too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Why does it matter what Manu Joseph thinks, though? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Fair question, that. He’s a journalist, as are many others, and not being on TV, is not important enough to issue certificates of nationalism either. So why does his opinion matter?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">It matters because he has a voice and he is not afraid to use it. It has become quite common among right-wing commentators to brand writers as ‘liberals’ and lump them into a corner alongside the ‘intellectuals’, whose opinions must be discounted as driven by ideology. This is quite ridiculous, really, because India’s greatest literary giant, Chetan Bhagat, has broadly been a cheer-leader of the current government, as has Amish Tripathi, which makes it quite surprising that the ‘writers’ are reviled thus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">But Manu Joseph, ah well, now that’s another matter. He does hate the right-wing, you know. Enough to make them the apparent antagonists of his book, <i>Miss Laila, Armed and Dangerous</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Indeed, on the surface of it, this short novel, featuring two quite sympathetic female protagonists and two quite unsympathetic male protagonists, seems to be an attack on the current dispensation. Thinly-veiled references to the Great Leader Modi, his <i>caporegime </i>Amit Shah and the mystical AK Doval abound. The extent to which the party and more importantly, the RSS, have infiltrated higher echelons of the security apparatus is hinted at, and much of the set-up of the story would, or should, make a reader nod his head in quiet agreement—tinged with pride or disgust, perhaps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">So what’s the story of <i>Miss Laila</i>?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Given that much of Joseph’s non-fiction writing lacks a comprehensible argument, flow or point, it is important to mention here that, short though it is, this novel <i>does </i>have a story. But to talk about <i>Miss Laila’s </i>story would be to give away much of what makes the book so interesting. Suffice to say that it exists. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">It is based on a not-so-recent event that was fairly controversial when it occurred—back when there needed to be a reason for killing a Muslim—and constituted a minor blip in the meteoric rise of India’s man of destiny. But I am getting ahead of myself. <i>Miss Laila </i>doesn’t appear in the narrative till much later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Instead, we are introduced first to <b>Akhila Iyer</b>, stand-up comedienne and maker of prank videos. A minor tremor in Mumbai leads to Akhila venturing to check on the damage in the neighbourhood. Instead, she ends up embroiled in a strange, complex terror plot, becoming the only connection the ‘establishment’ has to a member of a terrorist sleeper cell. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Then there is the erudite old bachelor <b>Professor Vaid</b>, the prominent intellectual backbone of the Sangh, able to articulate more shades of bigotry in one line than his foot-soldiers can through essay-length Facebook posts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Finally, there is <b>Mukundan</b>, the government heavy in charge of tailing <i>Miss Laila</i>, when she is revealed to be <i>armed and dangerous</i>, who is not quite sure if he’s driven by duty or ideology and is apparently trying to be a decent bloke according to a very flexible definition of decency.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">As Akhila zips between her present mission and her chequered past, as the Professor expounds mentally on the various shades of indoctrination that he has at his command and as Mukundan debates the ethics of premeditated murder versus accidental collateral damage, we find that we are laying bare not just a one-time political hot potato, but the casual bigotry that infects our society and the ease with which institutions, scruples and laws can be subverted and brought to serve a toxic, hate-filled ideology.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The characters follow their pre-ordained literary paths, converging into an unexpected ending that is suitably disturbing. Whether it leaves room for hope, or is a monument to despair is something that I think an individual reader will have to decide for himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Oh, and it reminds the reader that Manu Joseph thinks he’s trash. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">You see, the right-wing reactionaries and the bigots and xenophobes are the obvious targets of Joseph’s words. But his sharper weapons—his satire and his cutting wit—are reserved for the other side of the aisle. Left-leaning writers, rich upper-caste liberals who sympathise with peasants, self-proclaimed male feminists, all the apparently well-meaning members of the chattering classes are skewered and roasted with far more gusto than the Professor and his cadres. One can almost visualise the pleasure in the writer’s face as he attacks the leftists and the liberals (who are not, contrary to what your WhatsApp forwards tell you, always the same people), the NGO-types and the intellectuals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">However, the great weakness is <i>Miss Laila </i>remains its lack of intensity. Hovering over the political and social implication of what he writes, Joseph steadfastly refuses to delve deeply into any of the issues he raises, whether the hypocrisy of the intellectual class or the depravity of the religious ideologues. Despite the felicity with language, the pacing, and a proven ability to use words to evoke an emotional response in readers, Joseph steps back and avoids making it truly hit home in the way he surely could.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Maybe it’s unfair of me to say that, though. A writer, especially one as good as Joseph, is entitled to write what he wants, and his frankness and willingness to speak the truth as he perceives it is worthy of appreciation for its own sake. To expect more, to want a more compelling, more evocative narrative from him is like asking a Wizard not to be late—a Wizard, as we know, is never late; nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to—and we must trust that Joseph gives his readers precisely as much as he means to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">After all, he thinks we are trash, so why should he give us more? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calisto mt"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Miss-Laila-Armed-Dangerous-Joseph/dp/9352770447" target="_blank">Amazon US</a></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.in/dp/9352770447" target="_blank">Amazon India</a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's right, you're trash.</td></tr>
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Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7693426940490804954.post-1997156158911649792018-10-20T18:38:00.003+05:302018-10-20T18:38:32.664+05:30Book Review: Death Watch, by Ari Berk<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Book Review – Death Watch, by Ari Berk<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">We have always been fascinated by ghosts. In myth and legend, art and religion, they come to frighten, sometimes to amuse, always to raise questions about our own mortality. It is the ghost of <i>Hamlet</i>’s father that sets in motion the events of Shakespeare’s famous play, and the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future, that enliven Dickens’ <i>A Christmas Carol.</i>So when <b>Aindrila Roy</b>was kind enough to gift me a book whose central theme appeared to be ghosts, I settled myself down for what I hoped would be a grand read in that hoary tradition. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">I was not disappointed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">In ‘<i>Death Watch</i>’,<b>Ari Berk</b>presents a stirring, creepily atmospheric tale of the living and the dead, and those whose job it is to take souls from the land of the one to the other. Drawing upon various ancient and medieval mythologies and more modern beliefs, the book takes the readers on a truly goosebumps-inducing journey over the course of its 500-odd pages. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Silas Umber <i></i></span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">is an introverted American teenager who does not seem to be particularly unusual for his type—shy, believing in imaginary friends, having few in real life, and caught in the middle of his parents’ unhappy marriage. His father <b>Amos </b>is a mortician, and his mother <b>Dolores </b>a housewife, and while they live in the town of Saltsbridge, his father’s work usually takes him to <b>Lichport</b><i>,<b> </b></i>a nearby coastal town where Silas was born.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">But when his father disappears suddenly, Silas is forced to confront the reality that perhaps his father was something much more than a mortician, and his mother is little more than a barely-functioning alcoholic. As their money runs out, Silas and Dolores have to return to Lichport to stay with Amos’ elder brother, <b>Charles</b>. Silas finds himself distrusting his uncle and the more he meets and befriends the other people of Lichport who knew his father, the more he learns about the line of work he has been born into—for the Umbers are an old family, and for long have had the responsibility of easing the passage of the living to the world of the dead, and other things besides.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">In Berk’s deft prose, Lichport itself comes alive as a vast sprawling necropolis, a town dedicated to the dead and those who linger beyond death. Silas, as the heir to the Umber profession, is received by the town as one of its own, and as he takes on, literally and metaphorically, his father’s mantle, we are taken with him on a journey where the borders between life and death blur in ways that are often sad, and sometimes frightening. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Here we have the lovely <b>Bea </b>who Silas loses his heart to, the strange <b>Mrs Bowe </b>and her ghost lover, <b>Mother Peale </b>of the Narrows, ever on the lookout for the <b>Mist Ship</b>, which comes to take the souls of the damned, the three women of the Lichport Sewing Circle, who weave a tapestry and unweave it as events unfold. But just as much character comes from the <b>Umber House</b>, the <b>Beacon Hill</b>, <b>Newfields</b>with its giant bronze lion, the millpond and the <b>Narrows </b>where the <b>Sorrowsman </b>wails out his horrifying tale.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">The book is essentially about Silas’ search for his missing father, and to some extent about his relationship with Bea, but those end up being like a hiking trail—existing mostly to give us an opportunity to revel in the beauty of the world Berk creates. Indeed, so immersive is the world of Lichport that as a reader one can almost forget, at times, that there is the matter of Silas’ father to clear up; it seems almost secondary to the broader story about what death is, and what it means to ‘Rest in Peace’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Despite the morbidity of the subject, Silas is a character who embodies hope, and has a deep-rooted desire to make the world of both living and dead better. His enduring love for his father, his simple and almost-pathetic feelings for Bea, even after he realizes who she is, all make for a likeable protagonist, while the handling of the subject means that even over its considerable length, the narrative rarely becomes boring, even if there are passages where very little seems to happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">All said and done, <i>Death Watch<b></b></i>is an enjoyable read, especially for those who enjoy horror (though you know, probably not at night in an empty house and so on). It is possible that removing a POV or two might have made for a tighter story, but that will always be a matter of opinion. Also, some aspects, such as Silas’s relationship with Bea and the significance of the Mist Ship, are perhaps not as well-explored or as well-concluded as I might like, but with this being the first of a trilogy, perhaps these are to be seen in more detail later. This does not mean that the book does not work well stand-alone, because it does, but it has certainly also piqued my interest to read its sequels. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 28px;">Ari Berk deserves praise for his handling of characters and settings, for weaving myths that we know in a refreshing way and for taking a subject of such morbidity and managing to write a story that feels alive. None of the horror relies on cheap tricks or gimmicks, and like its characters who linger beyond death, <i>Death Watch </i>is a book that seems determined to stay with the reader long after the last page is turned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Calisto MT"; line-height: 28px;"><a href="https://www.amazon.in/Death-Watch-Undertaken-Trilogy-Book-ebook/dp/B004U7GWXS/" target="_blank">Amazon India</a></span></div>
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Percy Slackerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12743973968486575362noreply@blogger.com2